


(let the truth) break down these walls

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, PJO, PJO AU, broganes, oh the homoerotic tension of wrapping your bro's hand, they/them pronouns for Pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25001557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: Lance doesn’t let go just yet, Keith’s skin burning at every point of contact where Lance’s fingers touch his face, but after a moment he finally lowers his hand again, quiet. “I’m assuming someone told you, then.”Keith stares at a random point on the floor, curling his other hand into a fist in his lap. “Yeah.”Lance hums, not looking up from where he resumes wrapping Keith’s hand. “So you know that I’m actually—”“Yes.”“And that I can’t actually—”“Yes,” Keith snaps, shoulders hiking up toward his ears as his face flushes. “I got it, I’m an idiot.”A surprised laugh bubbles out of Lance’s mouth and he shakes his head. “Hey, you said it, not me.”
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 153
Kudos: 545





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> this is a pjo au commission + birthday present for one of my absolute bestest friends anna (aka [@blueskiesclub](https://twitter.com/blueskiesclub) on twitter)!!!! she commissioned me to write about any of the aus/ideas that we've talked about (which is.... MANY) so i decided to finally take a crack at this one very specific scenario we talked about a while ago... and here it is! 
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNA!

If there’s one thing that Keith has learned to do in life, it’s how to keep himself hidden.

That’s what anyone like him has to learn to do if they want to survive: hide. Some would say that makes them cowards, but those people are the same ones who think all the stories they were told growing up in Greek mythology are just that—myths, and nothing more. People like Keith don’t get that kind of luxury. They don’t get to choose whether or not to believe in the gods when it’s a matter of life or death.

Not that he really had a choice, but in Keith’s case he took that skill and applied it to… everything. Every circumstance, every situation, every aspect of himself even when he didn’t have to. It was just his way of coping, he supposes. After all, he’s been on the run since the ripe old age of nine, after his father died defending him from something that even today Keith wouldn’t be able to properly identify. For a long while he was totally and utterly alone, mostly by choice but also by necessity. He had no idea who he could trust. It was easiest not to trust anyone at all.

Because after all the running, and the falling, and the hurting—after everything, Keith learned how to hide every part of himself. He’d like to tell himself that was a choice too, but at the end of the day he knows that would be a lie. At some point it just became second nature, an instinctive method of self-preservation he’s not very proud of but uses to his advantage more often than not. Even now, people tell him that he’s standoffish, hard to read, even unapproachable at times. Frankly, he’d like to keep it that way. In his experience, one friend gained will only become another friend lost in the end. He’s tired of losing people.

And yet, there’s a small handful of people who have managed to break down the walls he’s so determinedly built up over the years. There’s Shiro, who Keith ran into when he was eleven by the sheer force of luck and became something of a brother figure. There’s Adam, whose dry sense of humor and quick wit are always just what Keith needs to let loose and feel at ease, both with the world and with himself. 

There are others that Keith has slowly let in, who were patient enough to wait for him to open up in the first place. There’s Allura, who always seems to know when he needs space and when he needs comfort, and Romelle, who keeps his attitude in check and keeps him from taking himself too seriously. Pidge is a lot like him, understands the difference between wanting quiet versus wanting to be alone. Hunk knows exactly how to stretch his boundaries without ever crossing any lines until Keith realizes he’s already been gently coaxed across them himself.

And then, there are the ones who have let themselves in, without Keith having any say in it whatsoever. Or at least, there’s one person in particular.

That would be Lance.

He and Lance aren’t enemies, by any means. They butt heads a lot, sure, and Lance declared a so-called rivalry between them on the very day that Keith arrived at camp with Shiro, for reasons unknown. It used to drive him crazy—the constant bickering, the jabbing, all the ridiculous accusations of showing off or “one-upping” when Keith was never trying to one-up anyone in the first place. So it took a while, but all things considered, their relationship now is more akin to a competitive friendship than anything, something that Keith has been secretly grateful for. Right now, Lance is one of the very few people at camp that Keith thinks he can justifiably label as a friend.

Because somewhere in between all of the sparring, and the competing, and the teasing, something changed. At first Keith couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but when he did… phew. Sometimes he still kind of wishes he hadn’t. Because if he thought it had been impossible not to rise to Lance’s bait or resist his goading into pointless games before, then it’s certainly impossible now. Shiro keeps telling him he’s not subtle about it. That’s the worst part, Keith thinks.

That only makes it hurt more.

The thing is, Keith knows that Lance knows how he feels about him. He’s not all too sure if _Lance_ knows Keith knows he knows, but Keith _does_ know that—okay, maybe it’s a little complicated. But if one thing’s for sure, it’s that ever since Keith figured it out, he’s become that much more painstakingly aware of the way he acts around Lance, and the way he acts around Lance is… more than a little embarrassing, for more than a lot of reasons.

He literally can’t say no to the guy. Like, so much so that the thought of saying no never even crosses his mind until long after the fact. He’s always been impulsive, but there’s something about Lance that ridiculously amplifies his already poor impulse control and destroys every shred of self-control that Keith has worked so hard to gain. Every once in a while his brain just stops functioning. The walls that he’s spent years building up? Gone. It’s almost as if he becomes a different person entirely. 

_I diagnose you with gay,_ Shiro has said, on many more than one occasion. 

Which is fair. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush on anyone like he does on Lance. Because Lance is funny, and smart, and crazy competitive but also surprisingly gentle when he wants to be. He can be loud and boisterous and to some might come across a bit arrogant, but Keith sees what he’s like outside the spotlight, too. For starters, he likes to dote on the younger campers, especially the newer ones who are scared and alone and have no idea what they’re supposed to be doing. He’s also much more perceptive than most give him credit for, always the first to notice when someone seems to be acting off as well as how to handle it. 

Plus, it’s not exactly hard to figure out who Lance’s godly parent is. Apparently his match-making record at camp is—well, unmatched, and he’s practically everyone’s first choice when they need relationship advice. From all Keith’s heard, his skincare routine is meticulous enough to rival his mom’s, for goodness sake. And from a purely objective standpoint, he’s charming, effortlessly so, and not excessively flirty but enough that it doesn’t go unnoticed. _Especially_ not by all the girls (Does it make Keith jealous? Who’s to say. Certainly not Keith). Keith would never go as far as to call him vain, but he knows Lance likes the attention, or at least isn’t bothered by it.

Not to mention, Lance is very… look, he’s pretty, okay? Keith’s not above admitting that Lance is easy on the eyes. It’s one of the reasons he caught Keith’s attention in the first place, aside from the rivalry gimmick that Lance was so determined to uphold. His face is—nice. Clearly his skincare routine works the way it’s intended to, because his skin is always clear and practically glows in the sun, which in Keith’s case is rather distracting. He never has bad hair days, his freckles scatter across his nose and cheeks in such a way that it seems that every single one was intentionally placed, and his eyes are a deep brown but when the sun hits them just right they melt into golden pools that sparkle when he laughs and— _anyway._

Lance is an Aphrodite kid, plain and simple. But it wasn’t until Keith learned about charmspeak that he started to grow a little suspicious, that he started to wonder if maybe his fully-fledged crush isn’t all that’s at play.

Only a handful of Aphrodite kids are actually gifted with the ability to charmspeak, but there’s no way that Lance isn’t one of them. Because now that Keith’s had time to think about it… it makes sense. He doesn’t know how else to describe it, but he gets these _urges_ around Lance, like everything he says or does in response to him is already set in stone. At the very least, it explains why Keith is incapable of saying no to him. And, the fact that he can’t hide anything about himself from Lance, no matter how hard he tries. So again, Keith knows that Lance knows how he feels about him, and yet he uses charmspeak on him at every opportunity as if Keith isn’t already drawn to him like a moth to flame. 

Lance is Keith’s best friend, and Keith thought maybe he was Lance’s, but evidently not. Maybe Lance doesn’t actually care about him at all.

That’s what hurts the most.

“Keith!” 

The sound of someone calling his name snaps Keith out of his drifting thoughts, and he looks up from the sketchbook in his lap to see Lance waving animatedly at him from the other side of the meadow he’s settled in. The sight of him instantly makes something messy and complicated begin to swirl restlessly in Keith’s gut, but he has the good decency to lift his hand and wave back anyway, sighing to himself when Lance lights up and starts heading his way. 

Gods. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

“Keith,” Lance says again when he’s closer, panting slightly from having jogged the distance. “Dude, I’ve been looking for you for ages. Where’ve you been?”

“Right here,” Keith answers, watching Lance long enough for him to come to a stop just in front him and bend over to catch his breath, planting his hands on his knees. He tries not to think too much about how long “ages” might be, or why Lance went to the trouble to find him at all. “Do you need something?” 

Lance lifts his head and flashes a bright, toothy grin. “What, it’s not enough that I just wanna see my friend?

Keith scoffs, quickly returning his gaze to his sketchbook so that his hair falls into his face and hopefully obscures his blush. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? I thought we were rivals.”

Lance groans, stretching back to his full height and tossing his head back. “Oh, _come on._ You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” Keith confirms, smiling to himself as Lance grumbles and shuffles around, flopping into the grass beside him and rolling over onto his back. He pokes at the end of Keith’s pencil and Keith easily swats him away without sparing him so much as a glance.

“Watcha drawing?”

Keith peers out across the meadow towards the woods at the edge of camp, eyes following the neat, coordinated rows of pine trees extending across one side of the lake. “Just boring stuff.” 

“Can’t be that boring if you’re bothering to draw it,” Lance muses, crossing his arms behind his head and kicking one ankle up over his knee.

Keith hums, returning his attention to his half-finished sketch and adding a few more half-hearted strokes. “I guess.”

Truthfully, he started this drawing yesterday and came back out to the meadow this afternoon with the intention to finish it, but so far he’s made very little progress. His mind is much too distracted to focus on anything for more than a couple minutes at a time. Not that Lance needs to know that.

“Hey.” Lance nudges Keith’s elbow with his foot and Keith huffs at him. “Matt told me you didn’t show up for combat training today.” 

Keith grimaces slightly, but after a moment he sets his pencil down and flips his sketchbook shut with a sign of resignation. “I didn’t.”

Lance whistles lowly, lifting one eyebrow as Keith glances sideways at him. “Kolivan must be pissed.” 

“Probably,” Keith admits, leaning back on his hands and tipping his head back to watch some of the clouds drifting slowly across the sky. “Good thing I’m not scared of him.” 

“I don’t know how,” Lance mutters. “I’d rather fight a Minotaur than fight Kolivan when he’s angry.”

Keith snorts. “You? Fighting a Minotaur? Now _that_ I’d like to see.”

“What?” Lance rises to the bait all too easily, a defiant glint in his eye as Keith chuckles to himself. “You don’t think I’ve got what it takes?”

“I never said that. Although you’d probably just tell it to sit back and watch the gun show, or something.”

“And it would totally listen,” Lance agrees emphatically, and Keith rolls his eyes while biting back a smile. “It’s part of my natural charm.” 

Keith’s amusement instantly fades and his smile falters.. His gaze automatically flits over to Lance, whose eyes are closed and face tilted up to the sky, and as Keith’s own eyes roam his face he can’t seem to stop the all-too-familiar, desperate ache from flaring in his chest. He quickly looks away when Lance opens his eyes again, praying to the gods that he wasn’t just caught staring. Not that they’ve ever cared about him, anyway.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, tucking his knees into his chest and resting his chin on top. “Must be.” Either Lance doesn’t notice his rather sudden, subdued nature or simply elects not to mention it. Keith hopes for the former.

Wind blows gently across the meadow, stirring the grass and sending it rippling out in the direction of the lake. Keith watches the colors shift, waves of dark and light greens melting together and apart before the wind settles and the color fades into one again. He kind of wishes he could lay down in this very spot and be swallowed by it. It’d certainly make things a lot easier.

“So… why _did_ you skip, anyway?”

It’s an innocent question, one that Keith doesn’t really want to answer honestly but already feels the urge to. He lowers one hand into the grass and brushes his palm across the blades, plucking a single piece out of the dirt and flicking it away. “I dunno. Just didn’t feel like it.” Maybe not the full truth, but not exactly a lie.

“You? Keith Kogane, not up for _combat training?”_ Lance pulls his arms out from behind his head and props himself up on one elbow, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “You feeling okay?” 

_No,_ Keith thinks, but definitely doesn’t say. Instead he shrugs. “I feel… normal.” 

“Pffft. There isn’t a single normal person here for miles, dude.” 

Despite the very complicated mess of emotions tangled up in Keith’s chest, he finds it somewhere in himself to laugh. “Fair enough.” 

Lance smiles in satisfaction and leans back down to settle himself into the grass. “Are you gonna be here for a while?” 

Keith sighs, glancing down at his sketchbook where it’s slid through his knees and onto the ground. There’s a decent amount of daylight left, and he doesn’t really feel like going back into the main part of camp while everyone else is still out and about. Maybe he can try to get a little more drawing done. “Probably.” 

“Mind if I stick around? I was gonna nap, anyway.” There’s something distinctly casual about Lance’s tone, a nonchalance that sounds almost too genuine not to be forced. Keith peers over at him, but his eyes are already closed again, the late afternoon sun dancing across his face and bringing out the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He always looks brighter in the sun, as if it was made specifically for him to lay in rather than the other way around.

Shiro had teased Keith for sharing that with him once, because _everyone looks brighter in the sun, Keith._ And he’s right, of course, but… it’s different. Sure, everyone looks brighter, but maybe not in the same ways. Not like Lance. 

“Nah,” he answers finally, tearing his gaze away before he can get caught staring again and flipping his sketchbook open. “I don’t mind.” 

They lapse into silence after that, but Keith misses the way Lance opens one eye to look up at him, brow furrowing slightly before closing it again. 

Keith does not, in fact, get any more drawing done at all.

He’d already been distracted before, and now that the very source of his distraction is lying down next to him, long limbs sprawled in the grass and snoring softly, it’s only gotten worse. Keith catches himself staring more times than he’d like to admit before making himself shift around so that his back is to Lance completely, but even then he can’t concentrate. There’s too much going on in his head.

So instead he just… sits. He sits and watches the sky change colors and the sun set slowly across the lake, listens to the wind rustling through the trees and the distant chirping of crickets and cicadas coming out of hiding. His sketchbook lies abandoned in his lap, long before the first stars begin to come out and light up the sky, and when they do his mind is flooded with all sorts of memories that only serve to distract him further. He unconsciously maps out a few constellations with his eyes, thinking about all the nights he and Lance have snuck out of their cabins after curfew to meet with Allura and Romelle so they could stargaze together. All the times he and Lance have laid in the grass side-by-side, all the times Keith has looked at Lance’s hand just inches from his and wondered what would happen if he reached out and—

He mentally slaps himself. _Nothing would happen,_ he tells himself firmly. _Lance doesn’t like you like that. And even if he did, he wouldn’t have waited this long to do something about it. Not when he already knows how you feel._

An owl screeches from somewhere deep in the forest, its call echoing all the way across the meadow to reach him. “Same,” Keith mutters. He exhales a long, quiet sigh and looks over his shoulder at Lance, still napping peacefully in the exact position he’d gone to sleep in. It’s always been a mystery to Keith how anyone can sleep so still, and he takes a moment to appreciate Lance’s wide open mouth and the drool trailing down one cheek before shifting back around to face him.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out to nudge Lance’s shoulder. “Lance. Wake up.” 

It takes a second. “Mm,” Lance mumbles, smacking his mouth a little as he stirs slightly, then rolls over onto his side. 

Keith pokes his cheek. “Laaance.” 

“Wha?” Lance wakes with a jolt, blinking several times and squinting before he seems to remember where he is. “Oh. Hey.” 

Keith snorts as he sits up and rubs his eyes, hopelessly endeared by the tuft of hair sticking up at the back of his head. “Sorry. It’s getting dark, so we should probably head back to our cabins before someone comes looking for us.”

He scoops up his sketchbook and climbs to his feet as Lance yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeesh. When you said you were gonna be here for a while, I didn’t think you meant this long.”

“Don’t tell me you had somewhere else to be?” Keith raises an eyebrow, offering his hand.

Lance immediately reaches out and takes it, huffing as he allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Keith moves to let go, but Lance’s grip only seems to tighten and Keith is almost certain he’s imagining it until Lance smiles at him. Really smiles at him, something much different than his usual teasing grins and self-assured smirks, something much softer and more authentic. It looks really good on him, Keith thinks. 

“Nope,” Lance says, and it’s only then that Keith realizes they haven’t let go of each other, hands still clasped tightly between them. “Nowhere else to be.”

Keith’s eyes widen, and for once he genuinely thanks every god he can name off the top of his head that it’s dark enough now to hopefully mask the rapidly spreading blush on his face. Because this always happens—Lance _always_ does this to him, throws it at him when he least expects it and he hates that it has such a strong effect on him but he can’t _help it,_ not when they’re alone and this close and Lance is looking at him like maybe he actually means something to him—

He all but snatches his hand out of Lance’s grasp, clearing his throat and quickly stepping back as he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Okay, well—uh, we should probably get going.” 

Lance blinks, his own hand hovering in the air for a split second longer before he draws away, too. “Yeah, probably.” 

Keith nods sharply, then swiftly turns on his heel and starts in the direction of camp, hoping that Lance will simply follow.

Their trip back to the cabins is quiet, for the most part. Lance jogs to catch up at the edge of the meadow and slows to match Keith’s pace, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walk side-by-side along the lakeshore. It’s almost fully dark now, the last rays of sunlight peeking out from the horizon and bathing the water in a soft golden glow, and by the time they veer off shore to cut through the wood’s edge, the sun is gone completely.

Keith has always liked the woods. There’s a certain stillness about them, even when there’s so much unseen life within them at all times. It’s always there if you know where to look for it. To him it’s comforting, somewhere he can be alone and open with himself without feeling quite so cut off or isolated. But right now, gaze kept straight ahead and sketchbook clutched tightly against his chest as he walks next to Lance—something about it now feels stifling. Maybe it’s just Keith, maybe Lance feels it too, but either way it makes Keith want to hide, digs up that instinctive urge to run that he thought he’d finally buried so long ago.

Maybe that’s the point. Lance has always had a way of pulling things out of Keith that no one else could. Today is no exception.

The first cabin has just come into view through the trees when Lance decides to break the silence. “Hey, wait a second.” 

Keith stutters to a stop and turns around, blinking in confusion. Lance is standing a few steps behind him where he’d come to an abrupt halt, and even in the dark Keith can make out the strange sort of expression on his face, something uncharacteristically tense and uncertain. He slips his hands out of his pockets as if he means to do something with them, but they remain stiffly at his sides as he opens his mouth and then closes it again. 

_Oh, boy._

“What?” Keith asks, doing his best to feign nonchalance despite the foreboding feeling that’s already begun to take over. 

His heart skips a nervous beat as Lance bites his lip, averting his gaze and shifting his weight from one side to the other. He looks… nervous. And when Lance is nervous, Keith gets nervous, because Lance is never nervous about anything so what in the world is he so nervous about now? 

“I just—” Lance starts finally, then falters. He flexes his fingers, then shoves his hands right back into his pockets before clearing his throat. “So, I was kind of looking for you earlier because I wanted to check up on you.” 

Keith’s heart skips another beat, for an entirely different reason this time. _Stop that,_ he thinks to himself. His heart skips a third beat as if out of spite. “Check up on me?” 

“Yeah, dude. You’ve just seemed a little… I don’t know.” Lance shuffles his feet, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck. “Off, lately? And, like, super distant.” 

It’s Keith’s turn to look away this time, his gaze falling to the ground as guilt instantly pools in the pit of his stomach, heavy and ice-cold. “I don’t mean to be,” he mumbles. And he means that. He doesn’t mean to close himself off but it’s a force of habit, and it’s the easiest way to keep himself from getting hurt any more than he already has been. It’s just a built-in survival mechanism, one that’s kept him alive this long but has admittedly kept him from getting close to very many people. He really does try not to let it control him, but this week has been a bit harder on him than others.

“Plus you’ve been skipping more than just training, and no one knows where you are half the time and—just, I know you need your alone time. I totally get that, but recently it’s seemed pretty extreme.” Keith hunches his shoulders as Lance continues, voice softening. “It’s not like you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I—” Keith starts, and then realizes that lying won’t get him out of this conversation, no matter how much he wishes it could. Lance will only drag the truth out of him sooner or later if Keith doesn’t give it to him himself. “There’s been a lot on my mind,” he finishes slowly. Another half-truth can’t hurt. 

It’s not quite enough to satisfy Lance, though. “You barely ate anything at dinner today.”

Keith’s head snaps up, brow furrowing. “You were watching me at dinner?”

“What? No!” Lance quickly amends as he waves his hands out in front of him, voice going up half a pitch. “I wasn’t watching you! I mean… I asked Matt if he had noticed anything weird, and he mentioned that you haven’t been eating much. Among other things.” 

Keith presses his lips together, curling his fingers around the spine of his sketchbook and crossing his arms over his chest. Matt is usually so chatty at dinner, he didn’t think he’d be paying enough attention to notice. “I’ve been eating plenty,” he lies, kicking at a rock on the ground and watching it disappear into the dark. “Anyway, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Lance frowns. “I already am. Worrying about you, I mean.” Keith doesn’t answer and continues to stare stubbornly at his feet, but he can feel Lance’s gaze on him, steady and unwavering as he waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he pulls his hands back out of his pockets and steps forward, reaching out as if to touch him. “Are you _sure_ that—” 

“Yes, Lance!” Keith interrupts, tossing one hand in the air in frustration. “I’m positive, _nothing_ is wrong. Now can we please just drop it?” He immediately regrets speaking so harshly when Lance’s outstretched hand freezes in midair, and his eyes widen slightly before he quickly pulls away. The following silence is much too loud for Keith’s comfort. 

“Okay,” Lance answers eventually, sounding resigned. “Fine. Consider it dropped.” He hesitates, scratching idly at his wrist while Keith refolds his arms tightly across his chest. “Look, if anything, I just…” Lance’s gaze flicks toward the ground for a moment before coming back up, and he takes a deep breath. “I want you to know that I’ve got your back, okay? You can tell me anything.” 

There’s absolutely no reason for Keith to react the way that he does. Lance is being genuine for once, stepping away from the cautious, teasing script they usually follow and offering something much more thoughtful and sincere. It should make Keith happy knowing that Lance actually wants to be his friend, knowing that Lance cared enough to even notice that something was off in the first place, but instead it only makes everything so much more _complicated,_ sends so many conflicting feelings surging through Keith’s chest that his first instinct is to lash out. Clearly his emotions are running high, but the last thing he should be doing is taking it out on Lance. 

And yet, that’s exactly what he does.

“Well it’s not like you’ve ever given me a choice, now have you?” he snaps. 

Lance’s expression shifts from concern to bewilderment in an instant. He blinks owlishly. “What?” 

Keith scoffs, and he hates the taste of his own bitterness in his mouth but now that it’s there he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. “Oh, come on, Lance. ‘You can tell me anything,’ seriously? Way to rub it in.” 

“Rub it in,” Lance echoes quietly, staring. “I was just…” 

“And don’t pretend like we don’t both know what you’ve been doing. After all this time, the very least you could do is own up to it.” 

“I—wait. Keith, what are you talking about?” Lance asks incredulously. “Is this because I asked Matt about you? I’m sorry, okay? I promise I’ll back off if you want me to, but I was just trying to—”

“You _know_ that’s not what I’m upset about!” 

Lance stops mid-sentence, mouth hanging open for a second before he exhales. “Then _what?”_

“Please, Lance,” Keith pleads, shaking his head as heat begins to build behind his eyes unbidden. “Don’t do this to me. I know you know, alright? It’s embarrassing enough without you using it on me when you know you don’t actually need it.” 

“Okay, I’m officially lost,” Lance announces, crossing his hands in a time-out motion and taking a small step forward only for Keith to mirror him, taking an even larger step back. That’s when he seems to realize that whatever this is—whatever is happening, whatever Keith is so worked up about, it’s hurt him. Keith is hurt, and when Keith is hurt, he runs. Lance seems to go unusually still, as if he’s afraid one more wrong move will cause Keith to bolt. “Dude, I swear to you I have no idea what you’re talking about. Using what on you?” 

Gods, if that doesn’t make Keith’s blood _boil._ “Are you serious?” 

Lance, to his credit, is doing a great job at appearing genuinely confused. “I—yes? Did I do something wrong?” 

“You tell me,” Keith fires back, even though Lance hadn’t spoken with nearly as much vehemence. “Honestly, Lance, it doesn’t take a genius to see what you’ve been doing to me even though you _know_ how I feel about you!”

“How—” Lance’s voice wavers. The crease in his brow disappears and his eyes widen slightly, lips parting in shock. “How you feel about me?” 

For just a split second, Keith’s blind indignation falters. For a split second he slows down just enough to really look at the expression on Lance’s face, to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s got things a little mixed up. After all this time spent sulking and and getting his feelings hurt, maybe he’s made too many assumptions and jumped to too many conclusions. Then again, he’s made it this far without being given any reason to think otherwise. 

His gaze hardens as he draws back a step, mouth pressed into a thin line and shaking his head. “Forget it,” he mumbles, turning around to make his leave. 

“Wait! Keith, please!” Lance catches Keith’s wrist and tugs just hard enough to make him stop. “If I hurt you somehow then I want to fix it. If you’d just explain to me exactly what’s wrong—”

“Your charmspeak, Lance!” Keith cries, ripping himself out of Lance’s grasp and whirling on him, the first tear of months’ worth of frustration and humiliation and an overwhelming accumulation of confusion and longing and _feelings_ spilling over and sliding down his cheek. “Stop using it on me!” 

As dark as it is, and as blurry as Keith’s vision is, he can still clearly make out the way that Lance’s face pales. His entire body freezes, his eyes widen, and his jaw goes slack. “My what?” he squeaks.

“I can’t take it anymore, okay?” Keith has stopped listening, and he hates himself for letting his emotions finally get the best of him but he’s already fallen too far over the edge, and there’s no going back. “You’ve had your fun, now just—just, leave me alone.” It almost seems anticlimactic, but with that, he turns his back on Lance and leaves. He ignores Lance’s distant, belated calls asking him again to wait, to _stay,_ blocks it all out and refuses to look back. He’s done playing games.

Lance doesn’t follow this time. 

Keith doesn’t stop until he’s made it out of the woods, until he’s passed all of the other cabins on the way to his own and thrown open the door of the Hermes cabin, until he’s stomped his way past the other kids getting ready for bed and toward the back, where his bunk sits in the very corner. 

“Hey, you’re back!” Matt’s head appears from the top bunk, his hair a disheveled mess from where he’s been sprawled against his pillows reading a book. He grips the wooden railing and leans over it with a grin. “I was wondering where you went off to. Lance was looking for you, by the way. Everything alright?”

Keith ignores him, too. He shoves his sketchbook into the bag at the food of his bed, strips off his shoes and jacket, climbs underneath the covers and rolls over to face the wall, all without saying a word. It’s a bit childish, but at least this way no one can see the angry, frustrated tears that continue to fall long past Matt has given up on coaxing him into conversation, long past lights out, long past all his cabin mates have settled in for the night. No matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t sleep. 

He wonders if he’s the only one.

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Days go by. 

Keith and Lance don’t speak to each other, mostly because Keith goes so far out of his way to avoid him that he hardly speaks to anyone at all.

It’s not very hard—for the majority of the day he simply has to keep his head down and keep busy during camp activities, which are typically divided between cabins anyway. During meals he sits at the very end of the Hermes table, the end furthest from the Aphrodite table even though they’re on complete opposite sides of the mess hall already. And as soon as all campers are officially released for the day, he goes straight back to his cabin and climbs into bed where he tries and tries and _tries_ but never succeeds to sleep or block how utterly awful he feels. 

He’s exhausted. Keeping his eyes open during the day when he’s not actively training is by far the most difficult task he’s faced with, yet he can’t get a wink of sleep once he actually gets the chance.

Matt keeps trying to initiate friendly, light-hearted conversation over meals and while they’re getting ready for bed at the end of the day, and Keith feels badly for ignoring him but he doesn’t have it in him to engage. Not to mention, if he’d been talking to Lance about him before, there’s no guarantee he’s not talking to Lance about him now; although, he’s not sure exactly what Lance could possibly have to say about him right now. He’s not sure he wants to know. 

The worst part is that he misses Lance. He never realized until now just how much time he really spent with him, and now that they’re not on speaking terms, it’s blindingly apparent how much he depended on Lance for… a lot of things, actually. Despite everything, Lance was always there when Keith needed to complain about training, when he needed someone to spar with, when he needed someone to listen—he was just always there, period. The first person Keith would go to during a time like this is the very person he doesn’t have the option of going to anymore. 

It’s a lose-lose situation. Keith literally can’t win. What else is new? 

“You’re being sloppy.” 

Keith hits the ground with a grunt for what has to be the dozenth time today, the hilt of his sword slipping out of his grasp and clattering loudly against the concrete. He huffs a piece of hair out of his face and scowls up at the source of the weight on his chest. “Am not.” 

“Are too,” Shiro retorts, lifting the tip of his own sword from where it had been resting against Keith’s chestplate. “Honestly, are you even trying?” 

He offers a hand to Keith, who sighs as he takes it and allows himself to be hauled back to his feet. “Obviously I’m _trying.”_

“Well, try harder,” Shiro quips, chuckling to himself as Keith rolls his eyes and bends down to pick up his sword. 

Usually at this time of day Keith would be in his bed sulking by now, but today he wasn’t quite so fortunate to make it that far. Shiro intercepted him on his way to the Hermes cabin and instead dragged him off to the training ring, where they’ve been for the last half hour with Adam. Keith feels like he’s not training so much as getting his butt kicked, especially considering that he’s too drained to do much more than defend himself, which is… very off-brand for him. 

He grips the hilt of his sword with both hands and reluctantly resumes his defensive stance as Shiro gets back into position. “You do know that you’re the most powerful demigod at camp, right?”

Adam scoffs from where he sits on one of the concrete steps leading down into the enclosure, looking up from his book for the first time since they’ve been there. “That’s debatable. I could take him.” 

Shiro playfully sticks his tongue out at him. “You wish, sweetheart.” 

“Need I remind you of the reason you asked me out in the first place?” Keith laughs loudly as Shiro’s face flushes, his skin turning almost pink enough to blend in with the scar across his nose. Adam takes pity on him though, simply smirking in satisfaction before returning to his book. “Besides, I’m not the only one. Allura could take down both you and Mount Olympus itself if she really wanted to.” 

Keith and Shiro grimace at each other, because, well—Adam is right. Absolutely no one in their right mind wants to be on Allura’s bad side, especially not since she’s become so skilled in manipulating the Mist, and _especially_ not after The Incident. (Long story short, Lotor is permanently purple now. At least, so Allura says, but Keith has a sneaking suspicion that she could easily reverse it if she wanted to.)

“Fair point,” Shiro concedes, lowering his sword briefly to roll his shoulders. 

A gust of wind passes through the clearing, and as it blows through Keith’s hair he can’t help but let his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of it on his face. He’s been doing his best to power through it, but he’d be lying if he said the lack of sleep wasn’t getting to him. That combined with the heat today has given him a massive headache, and getting up or moving too fast is a fast ticket to dizziness, although it typically fades after only a moment. Maybe if he’d actually eaten something substantial at lunch or breakfast, the latter wouldn’t be as much of a problem.

Shiro is watching him curiously when he remembers to open his eyes, and he quickly averts his gaze as Shiro steps forward and places a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Seriously, bud, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Keith mumbles, shrugging his hand away and stepping out of reach but regretting it when he sees the hurt flash across Shiro’s face. “Sorry, I’m just… I’ve been tired.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro and Adam glance at each other. “Maybe we should take a break,” Shiro offers.

Keith doesn’t need to be told twice. He immediately breezes past Shiro and practically falls onto the first step, grateful for the distraction and the chance to finally be off his feet. Shiro gives him an odd look as he passes by to climb up a few more steps and sit by Adam. Keith dutifully ignores him.

“So,” Adam starts, clearing his throat while Keith rather carelessly tosses his sword onto the ground at his feet. “Speaking of… you know. Asking people out.” 

Keith nearly chokes. “Oh my gods, please,” he groans, letting his head fall back. “Now is _so_ not the time.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” 

“Let’s keep it that way.” 

“Keith, c’mon,” Shiro sighs. “We’re just trying to help.”

“Help with what?”

“I told you he wouldn’t listen,” Adam mutters.

Keith frowns, twisting around and bracing himself on the next step to squint up at Shiro. “Your whole spiel today about ‘brotherly bonding’ over training was just a ruse, wasn’t it?” 

Shiro stares at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

_“Ugh.”_

“What?” Shiro cries, and Adam snorts as Keith turns his back on them and crosses his arms over his chest. “I just—okay, fine! So maybe it was, but clearly something’s wrong so you can’t blame me for being worried!” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Keith insists, hunching his shoulders and glaring down at the ground. “You’re worrying over nothing.” 

“Yeah, right. You haven’t talked to Lance in three days.” 

Keith winces. “Who told you that?” 

“So it _is_ about Lance,” Adam muses. 

Keith groans again, his bangs falling into his face as he squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples. “Guys, seriously. I really don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Can you at least tell us what happened?” Shiro presses. 

“I can.” 

“… Will you?” Adam amends, when Keith declines to continue. 

“Of course not.” 

“Oh, come on!” Shiro complains. “We’ll just keep bothering you about it until you do.” 

Which is true. Shiro and Adam are _great_ at bothering him into submission. Keith sighs heavily, propping his elbows against his knees and dropping his face into his hands. It’s so hot outside. He’s hot, he’s tired, his palms are scraped and stinging with sweat, his entire body aches and the last thing he wants to be doing is talking about why he’s suddenly not on speaking terms with his best friend and person he’s had a mega crush on for over a year. At least in his cabin he would be able to sulk _comfortably._

“I finally stood up for myself,” he answers at length, scrubbing his hands down his face and kicking at a broken chunk of concrete on the ground. “That’s what happened.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence, long enough that although Keith can’t see them, he’s sure that Adam and Shiro are sharing another look. 

“Stood up for yourself?” Shiro repeats cautiously.

Keith scoffs. “Seriously? Not you guys, too.” A sudden, sharp _zap_ right at the small of his back makes him yelp, and he whips around to see Shiro quickly lower his hand back into his lap. “Shiro!” 

“Clearly we’re missing an important piece of the puzzle here,” Adam says dryly, expression deadpan as Keith scowls and rubs his back. “You stood up for yourself because…? What did Lance do to you?” 

“Nothing,” Keith snaps, and then frustratedly throws his hands in the air at the bewildered look that earns him from both Shiro and Adam. “I mean—he did, just not in the moment, it was— _gods._ Just, he wouldn’t stop pressing me, I got upset and then I called him out, okay?”

Adam sets his book down and cups his chin in his hand. Shiro blinks at him. “Called him out on what?” 

“Uh, hello?” Keith waves an arm in the air, annoyed. Honestly, is he the only one who pays attention to anything around here? “The charmspeak? What else would I be talking about? He already knows how I feel about him and yet he uses it on me _all the time._ Maybe I finally got sick of it and snapped. Sue me.” 

Apparently it takes the two of them a moment to process. For a good twenty seconds or so they all simply stare at each other, and frankly, Keith is rather perturbed by the lack of a response. That is, until Shiro chokes, throwing an arm over his face to muffle his laughter while Adam sighs deeply, clear exasperation etched into every single line on his face. Keith, understandably, is not pleased by these reactions.

“Why the hell are you _laughing?”_

“I’m sorry,” Shiro answers breathlessly, falling against Adam’s side and leaning heavily on his shoulder for support. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you—oh, gods—”

“Keith,” Adam says calmly, completely unfazed by Shiro’s desperate attempts to control himself. “You’re confused.” 

“I am _not!”_ Keith retorts, voice cracking slightly and sending Shiro into another fit of giggles. “I thought you guys would be on my side!” 

“Of course we would be. If, you know, anything you’re saying was actually possible.” 

Keith glares at him. “What do you mean possible, I’m _telling_ you that’s what happened.” 

“Keith,” Adam repeats calmly, and Keith is about to get onto him for continuously saying his name in such an obnoxiously annoying way until he finishes his thought. “What cabin do you think Lance is in?” 

“Uhhh, Aphrodite?” Keith responds incredulously. “As in the only cabin with kids who can charmspeak? Obviously.” Shiro _howls._ “I still don’t understand why this is so funny! You asked what happened and I told you, end of story!”

Adam takes his glasses off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lance can’t charmspeak.” 

“Yes, he can—”

“Except he _can’t,_ because he’s an Apollo kid, Keith.” 

Keith’s heart stops. His blood freezes, his entire body goes ice cold, and for a moment he’s rendered speechless as the words process fully in his mind. They don’t quite compute at first, struggling to assimilate into Keith’s current thoughts when they conflict so strongly with the ones that are already there, but the second that it clicks Keith feels his stomach sink all the way to his toes. It takes all his effort to find his voice again, staring at Adam while Shiro continues to die. Metaphorically speaking. 

“Okay,” he finally manages, his throat dry. “Stop messing with me.” 

“I promise you, we’re not,” Adam answers. 

“Oh my gods,” Shiro wheezes, leaning down and putting his head between his knees. _“Keith.”_

“I—but—no he’s not,” Keith insists weakly, but there’s already a part of him that’s slowly, painfully realizing— _oh, no._ “You’re lying.” 

“Once again, we’re not,” Adam contends, readjusting his glasses. 

“Keith,” Shiro gasps, lifting his head and clutching his side as his entire body trembles with laughter. “Please don’t tell me that you told Lance off for using charmspeak on you.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then: “Shit,” says Keith. 

“And then proceeded to storm off before he had the chance to explain to you that he is incapable of using charmspeak because he is not, in fact, an Aphrodite kid.” 

The rest of Keith’s vocabulary has vanished in an instant. _“Shit.”_ He shoots to his feet and stumbles back a few steps, nearly tripping over his own sword in the process. 

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit._

Even Adam has cracked at this point, his calm, indifferent facade giving way to amusement as Shiro snickers uncontrollably into his shoulder. And maybe Keith would find it funny too, if he weren’t so completely and utterly horrified by this new revelation. Because if Lance is really an Apollo kid, then that means everything Keith said to him in the woods the other day about “knowing” and charmspeak and _feelings_ —if Lance can’t actually charmspeak, and if he didn’t actually know about Keith’s feelings for him, then Keith accused him of doing things he’s literally incapable of doing and then stripped his own heart bare for Lance to see. Turns out Keith is just infinitely more smitten than he thought, and also an idiot.

“Shit,” Keith says again, knees wobbling slightly as he turns, unsure of what he’s doing or where he’s going or what he intends to do at all, but he doesn’t have the time to figure that out, anyway.

Apparently the sudden, overwhelming stress of the situation was enough to push Keith’s body to its breaking point. Next thing he knows he’s on the ground, crouched down on all fours and struggling to breathe. His chest aches, his head is spinning, everything is hot and evidently his lungs have forgotten how to function. He’s vaguely aware of his name being called—by Adam or Shiro, he’s not sure—and footsteps scrambling across concrete until they’re both at his side, all traces of their previous amusement vanishing in an instant.

“Whoa, hey,” Shiro soothes, gripping one of Keith’s arms to steady him, laying the other on his back. “Keith, relax.” 

Keith coughs, slapping a shaky hand over his mouth as bile rises up the back of his throat. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Just breathe,” Shiro says gently, even as he gathers some of Keith’s hair and holds it back, just in case. “Calm down, everything’s fine.” 

Adam presses his hand to Keith’s forehead as he groans. “Oh my gods, Keith, no wonder Shiro’s been kicking your ass more easily than normal today. You’re so clammy, when’s the last time you had some water?”

“I don’t know,” Keith croaks. 

Shiro winces as he coughs again, but thankfully nothing comes up. “Alright, I officially feel bad for laughing. Have you even been eating?”

“Not really.” 

“Sleeping?”

“… No.”

Adam removes his hand from Keith’s forehead, muttering something involving ‘ridiculous’ and ‘such a teenager’ under his breath. “I’m gonna go grab someone on duty from the infirmary.”

Shiro sighs and gently touches Keith’s shoulder as Adam climbs to his feet and hurries up the steps leading out of the amphitheater. “Do you think you can stand?” he asks softly.

Keith makes an unintelligible noise, hanging his head now that it’s started to pound. “I think I’d rather die.” 

He really should start keeping track of how many times he’s been sighed at today. “Alright, drama queen. Brace yourself.” 

It’s all Keith can do to let Shiro pull his arm around his shoulders and slowly help him to his feet, only to immediately scoop him up with ease to carry him bridal style. Keith hardly has the energy to protest, and the almost challenging look Shiro gives him makes any complaint die in Keith’s throat, anyway. Instead he screws his eyes shut and turns his face into Shiro’s chest to block out the sun. His head is _killing_ him.

“Don’t drop me,” he mumbles. 

“Psh. As if,” Shiro answers, shifting so that he holds Keith more securely against his chest as if to prove himself as he starts up the steps. “I could toss you over my shoulder like a wet towel if I really wanted to.” 

“Please don’t.” 

“Fine, as long as you don’t throw up on me. Assuming you even have anything in your body to throw up.”

“No promises,” Keith groans. 

Shiro shakes his head as he clears the last step and starts in the direction of the infirmary. “For the record, this is why you should just talk to people when you have issues, like a normal human being.” 

Keith actually chuckles to himself at that, which is a pretty good sign that he’s gone a little bit loopy. “None of us are normal.”

“Hey, that’s my line.” 

It takes a second for Keith to realize that a third voice has entered the conversation, and even longer to realize that he and Shiro have stopped moving altogether. He frowns, turning his head and peeling his eyes open long enough to make out the faces of both Adam and the owner of the third voice staring down at him. Then a jolt of pain shoots through his skull and his eyes snap back shut with a grimace. “Ugh.”

“Gee, thanks,” Lance says.

“I don’t think that was directed at you,” Shiro offers apologetically. 

“It’s your lucky day, champ,” Adam hums cheerfully, patting Keith’s cheek. “I found your favorite camper.” 

Gods, this is humiliating. Keith doesn’t even have the energy to glare at Adam. Heck, he isn’t even present enough to fully comprehend just how embarrassing the entire situation is. To be fair, that’s probably for the best.

“What happened?” he hears Lance ask, resisting the urge to curl in on himself and completely bury his face in Shiro’s chest like he might have done when he was younger. 

“Honestly, we don’t really know,” Shiro admits, and Keith’s eyes flutter at the touch of someone’s fingers brushing his bangs out of his face. “I think the fatigue finally got to him. He says he hasn’t been eating or sleeping.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Lance mutters, voice heavy with exasperation. “Did he pass out while you guys were training?” 

Keith is lucid enough to feel a sharp twinge of panic at the notion that someone is about to have to explain to Lance why his body decided now was a good time to finally shut down. “Uh…” Shiro trails off, sounding trapped and maybe a little guilty. “Well—”

“Not exactly,” Adam interrupts quickly, and Keith lets out a quiet breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Kind of hard to explain.” 

“It always is with him, isn’t it,” Lance says flatly, at which Adam snorts and Shiro barks out a laugh. “Anyway, I can take him from here.” 

Shiro makes a soft noise of surprise in the back of his throat. “Oh, are you sure? I can at least carry him the rest of the way to the infirmary—” 

“It’s okay, really. I’ve got him, you guys can go back to whatever you were doing.” 

Keith hears Shiro take in a breath as if to protest, but after a second he gives in and exhales. “Alright, whatever you say. C’mon, Keith.”

Well. This should be fun.

Transferring Keith from one person’s arms to another’s is, to put it mildly, kind of a major hassle. With a little more gentle prompting from Shiro, Keith manages to open his eyes long enough to extract his arm from around Shiro’s shoulders while Lance pulls the other around his own, and it takes more effort than it’s probably worth for Lance and Shiro to properly adjust without dropping him completely, but they make it work. Keith’s cheeks burn as he settles against Lance’s chest, hyper-aware of where Lance’s arms press against his back and under his knees. 

They all know it would’ve been infinitely easier for Shiro to simply carry him the rest of the way. Keith can’t help but wonder why Lance was so adamant about carrying him himself, especially after the stunt Keith pulled in the woods the other day. Gods, the fact that Lance has such an effect on him even when he’s ridiculously dehydrated and sleep-deprived is incredibly concerning.

He keeps his gaze down as Lance turns and starts across the short distance remaining between them and the infirmary. It’s not very difficult; the sun hurts his eyes and only serves to exacerbate his now massive headache, which gives him a convenient excuse to avoid eye contact. Either way, Lance is so warm that Keith is struggling to keep his eyes open anyway, and he’s finding it harder and harder to remember why he’s supposed to feel as stiff and awkward as he does. 

By the time Lance bumps the door to the infirmary open with his hip and steps inside, Keith’s eyelids have grown so heavy that he couldn’t keep them open if he wanted to. He sort of loses awareness for a moment, relaxing in Lance’s hold and leaning shamelessly against his chest. There’s a bit of shuffling as Lance maneuvers through the small, crowded space toward the beds in the back, and when he finally starts to carefully, gently lower him down onto one, Keith is almost reluctant to let go. 

“Alright, here we go,” Lance grunts, ducking slightly to remove Keith’s arm from around his neck. “Don’t move, okay? Gimme a sec.” 

That’s fine. Keith wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Lance doesn’t wait for him to answer anyway, disappearing before Keith can even think to open his mouth. He hears Lance moving around on the other side of the room and the sound of a sink running before he returns a moment later with a glass of water. “Here.” 

With some help, Keith is able to sit up slowly enough that he doesn’t get too dizzy, although the feeling of Lance’s hand against the small of his back kind of distracts him from it. He doesn’t realize just how thirsty he is until he accepts the glass and cautiously takes the first sip, only to gulp the rest down in three seconds flat. Lance watches with a funny sort of smile on his face, clearly amused as Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sheepishly hands the glass back to him.

“Now,” Lance sighs, setting it down on a nearby table and planting a hand on Keith’s chest, easing him back down onto the bed. “For the gods’ sake, Keith, _sleep._ Trust me when I say that’ll fix half your problems. We’ll deal with the rest when you wake up.” 

Keith’s eyes sting with the effort it takes not to give in to the urge to close them yet. “Okay,” he agrees, settling back into the pillows.

“I mean it. Six hours, minimum.” 

“M’kay,” Keith mumbles. He can already feel himself slipping, the throbbing in his head having diminished to a dull ache now that there’s some water in his system. His entire body sinks gratefully into the mattress, and he doesn’t even realize that his eyes have fallen closed until he feels Lance brushing his bangs out of his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Lance’s voice is the last thing he hears before he loses his grip on that last thread of consciousness.

“You’re such an idiot,” he says quietly. Maybe Keith is just imagining it, but he detects a hint of fondness. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

So Keith does for the first time in days, as if Lance’s permission was all he really needed.

And they say Lance can’t charmspeak. 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

He wakes up to the sound of rain.

It’s comforting, quiet enough that it takes him a moment to even realize that he’s awake. The soft pattering against the roof and windows coaxes him out of a dreamless sleep and into awareness, his limbs heavy with sleep yet feeling weightless as he drifts in and out of wakefulness. Everything around him is so warm, and soothing, and for a long time he can’t quite bring himself to open his eyes, unwilling to let go of it completely. 

After a few days of no sleep at all, it’s a nice change of pace. 

Keith inhales slowly through his nose, stretching out his legs before exhaling and burrowing further underneath his covers, pressing his face into the pillow. His entire body practically aches with relief as it settles, which seems kind of contradictory but he’s not about to complain. He embraces the feeling, allows himself to enjoy it for a while longer as he listens to the rain continue its steady rhythm overhead.

Eventually his eyes flutter open of their own accord, and he blinks blearily as they adjust to the dark. He was so out of it before, he never really got a good look at the place before he passed out. Other than a few minor training injuries, he’s never really had a reason to go into the infirmary, and in this case his memory doesn’t serve him very well. 

It’s a bit smaller than he remembers, dimly lit by one or two lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The walls are mostly bare aside from an occasional chart or poster and two windows on the far side of the room. Keith spends a minute watching raindrops sprinkle and streak across the glass before his gaze trails away to continue observing. A couple of the floorboards are in bad enough shape that he’s afraid he could get a splinter just looking at them, but other than that the place is pretty cozy, maybe a little cramped but not unbearably so.

There’s only a single row of five beds, and Keith’s in the very first one. The other four are empty, which makes sense—most of the time campers come in with an injury and are out by the end of the day, thanks to the skills and resources of the Apollo kids and volunteers. On the other side of the room are various shelves and cabinets lining the walls, all full of medical supplies and equipment, most of which Keith has never seen or doesn’t know the purpose of. A simple utility sink sits in the very corner, and in the middle of the space is a small table with a chair at one end. 

Keith stifles a yawn with the back of his hand and looks back toward one of the windows. Judging by how dark it is outside, it’s well past lights out, which means he slept through the rest of the afternoon and all evening. Honestly, at this point he wouldn’t mind rolling over and going right back to sleep for the night, too. And that’s what he’s about to do, pulling the covers up to his chin before looking down and realizing upon closer inspection that his covers are not actually covers, but… a jacket? One that is very much not his, and that wasn’t there when he first came in.

Oh no. Oh, gods. Keith was so wrapped up in his post-sleep haze that he nearly entirely forgot about the reason he got into this mess.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.” 

He yelps when someone appears at his side quite literally out of nowhere, arms flailing slightly as he shoots up with the jacket clutched against his chest as if it’s supposed to protect him somehow.

“Whoa, dude!” His head snaps around to find Lance standing over him, laughing as he holds his hands out in a placating gesture. “Keith, relax. It’s just me.” 

Keith does relax, but only slightly. “Holy crow,” he breathes, dropping Lance’s jacket into his lap and scrubbing a hand down his face, heart still racing. “Honestly, Lance—where did you even come from?”

Lance stares at him, mouth twitching as he tries but fails to mask his obvious amusement. “I was sitting right there.” 

Keith looks at where he’s pointing and blinks when he sees the chair positioned at the foot of his bed. “Oh.” He jumps a little at the feeling of Lance’s hand on his shoulder, and when he turns back toward him he finds their faces to be much closer in proximity than they had been just a couple seconds ago.

“Man, you really did a number on yourself, huh?” Lance says softly, eyebrows pinched in concern as he inspects Keith’s face. He pushes Keith’s bangs to the side and carefully presses a hand against his forehead, humming distractedly. “At least your temperature’s back to normal. How do you feel?” 

“U-uh,” Keith stutters, desperately fighting the blush rising up his neck and leaning back slightly in an attempt to put more space between them. “I’m—good. I feel fine.” Lance levels him with a dubious look and he winces, backpedaling. “Um… my throat’s still pretty dry,” he admits. 

Lance snorts, as if that was a given. “Yeah, I can imagine. Here.” He pulls away from Keith’s forehead and grabs his wrist, dropping something into his open palm. “Eat this.” 

Keith blinks, and as Lance walks away he looks down to find a small square of ambrosia in his hand. He wrinkles his nose slightly at the sight of it, but he obediently pops it into his mouth and chews, eyes fluttering shut the moment it hits his tongue. 

Most other campers would kill to have a taste of ambrosia (some have gone as far as to purposely injure themselves for it, their curiosity is so strong), but Keith’s not too fond of it himself. He’s only had it once before, when he sprained his wrist particularly badly during training. They say that it tastes different to everyone, that it takes the flavor of the consumer’s favorite food associated with their best memories. Only issue is, Keith doesn’t always like to remember. Even his best memories are inexplicably tied to some of his worst.

At the very least, he can admit that he appreciates how much better he feels the longer he continues to chew. It’s like warmth flowing through his veins, slowly and deliberately, ridding his body of all the stress and tension that’s built up over the past few days. His shoulders loosen, the pressure in his chest lightens, and his head feels the clearest than it has for a very, _very_ long time. Unfortunately, this also means that he’s finally regaining full awareness of his current situation, and his stomach flips when he thinks about the fact that Lance is the only other person in the room with him. 

Together. Alone. After Keith mistakenly blew up at him over a minor miscommunication and in doing so confessing his feelings while simultaneously implying some very questionable things about Lance and then proceeding to ignore him for the next three days. Not his finest moment. Gods, he can’t imagine what Lance must think of him right now. 

He opens his eyes to see Lance watching him curiously from where he stands at the sink, head tilted minutely to the side as he fills a fresh glass of water. Their gazes meet briefly and Keith quickly looks away, doing his best to act casual but failing miserably when he remembers Lance’s jacket still bunched up in his lap. He panics slightly at the sound of Lance’s approaching footsteps and hurriedly picks it up, folding it as neatly as he can and awkwardly setting it aside. 

“For you,” Lance offers, holding the glass out to him. 

Keith hesitates. His throat isn’t all that dry anymore, but he did kind of ask for the water, so he reaches out and takes it. “Thanks,” he mumbles. 

He keeps his head down as Lance drags his chair from the foot of the bed around to where Keith is, sitting a respectful distance away but close enough that their knees would be touching if Keith were to swing his legs over the side. Keith cups the glass in both hands and stares determinedly at it as he works on the last of the ambrosia, swallowing and then taking a sip of water just to give himself something else to do.

“What does it taste like?” 

Lance speaks so softly, Keith nearly misses it. He stiffens slightly, eyes darting toward Lance as he lowers the glass in his hands. He’s got one foot on the seat with him, knee tucked toward his chest and arms folded over it, an expression on his face that’s more unreadable than it is blank. Keith’s not sure what to make of it, but it makes him feel guilty enough that he has to look away again. Honestly, he’s not sure why Lance is choosing to remain civil with him at all in the first place. 

He clears his throat, resisting the urge to fold in on himself. “Don’t laugh.” 

Lance’s answer is immediate. “I won’t.” 

Keith chews on his lip for a moment, watching his own reflection in the water before he has to look away from that, too. “Strawberry cake.” 

True to his word, Lance doesn’t laugh. Instead he remains silent, resting his chin on his knee and waiting expectantly, a silent invitation for Keith to continue and answer the next unspoken question hanging in the air. Usually Keith doesn’t like to delve into the details of his childhood, no matter how seemingly insignificant or mundane, but Lance already knows more about it than any other camper does, save for Shiro and Adam. He supposes it can’t hurt to share one more, even considering the circumstances. 

“My dad and I…” Keith starts, then breaks off with a small sigh. “We always made strawberry cake for my birthday. We’d get up early in the morning to make it and play cards while it was in the oven, then watch cartoons while we waited for it to cool. Then once it was ready, we slapped some icing on top and ate some for breakfast.” He smiles a little at the thought, tracing a finger around the rim of the glass as he goes on. “We’d eat the entire thing in one day. It’s all we ate, for breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner. By the time we finished we were both sick of it, but it sort of became tradition, so.” 

Lance laughs quietly. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to see six-year-old Keith with strawberry icing all over his mouth.” 

“Shut up,” Keith huffs, lifting the glass to his mouth to hide his growing smile as Lance snorts and stifles his giggles with the back of his hand. The fact that Lance is _still_ managing to cheer him up at a time like this is kind of unbelievable.

“Drink up, Strawberry Shortcake,” Lance teases, stretching his legs out and folding his hands behind his head with a grin as Keith rolls his eyes. “I still need to wrap your hand, too.” 

Keith frowns. “What’s wrong with my—” He cuts himself off and blinks as Lance reaches forward and grasps his wrist again, turning his right palm face up. Keith grimaces. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Lance says dryly, letting go and leaning back while Keith inspects the various cuts and blisters littering his skin with a wrinkled nose. “‘Oh’. You’re supposed to be wrapping your hands _before_ stuff like swordfighting, Keith. Seriously, what’s the point of those dumb fingerless gloves if you don’t even wear them for protection?” 

“Blame Shiro,” Keith grumbles. “He stole them from my cabin while I was showering.” 

“You don’t wear them in the shower?” 

“Why in the world would I wear them in the shower.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Lance shrugs, then stands from his chair and spins on his heel before Keith can protest. “Drink your water!” 

Keith sighs exasperatedly, but he dutifully takes another sip as Lance starts rummaging through the shelves of supplies on the other side of the room. He downs the rest of the water fairly quickly and lets Lance take the glass from him when he returns, who sets it out of the way on the table behind him as Keith swings his legs over the side of the bed. He waits quietly for Lance to situate himself, sitting back down and dropping his things into his lap before scooting forward. Their knees bump, and Keith genuinely can’t help the blush that spreads across his face when Lance wastes no time in taking his hand, holding it carefully in his own. His only consolation is that Lance is too busy examining his palm to look up and see how pink Keith’s face is. 

Lance’s touch is so gentle, delicate in a way that Keith has never been able to be. It makes him feel strangely vulnerable, as if years spent being tossed around by the universe has conditioned him to expect everything else in his life to be just as rough and leaving him thrown mercilessly off-balance when it’s not. It’s why he has so many walls built up, and why it takes so long for him to warm up to those who have the patience to deal with them. But with Lance… with Lance, it’s like those walls are invisible. He doesn’t have to work as hard to break them down because instead he just walks right through them as if they never even existed. 

Keith bites his lip as Lance pads his hand with gauze and expertly works to undo the end of the tape with his fingers, brow pinched in concentration. They’d managed to avoid the unspoken tension in the room for a few moments, but now that they’ve fallen back into silence it’s impossible to ignore. Keith’s stomach turns over on itself when Lance gingerly adjusts his hold on Keith’s hand and begins to wrap it, starting at space just underneath his fingers. The only other sound in the room is that of the rain continuing to fall outside, drumming steadily against the roof and walls. 

Aside from the obvious reasons (a.k.a. technically Lance _is_ on duty in the infirmary right now, which means he’s obligated to help anyone who needs it), Keith doesn’t understand why Lance is being so careful with him. He doesn’t even understand why Lance is being nice to him, in any sense of the word. It’s one thing to be polite for the sake of keeping the peace, but Lance hasn’t shown even a hint of irritation or resentment toward him. If anything, he’s been just as kind and concerned as Keith would expect him to be when they’re on the best of terms, which… they’re not. Keith recognizes that that’s entirely his fault. 

Regardless, it’s safe to say that they’re kind of overdue for a talk. He’s not sure how or when to bring it up, if Lance is thinking about it too or if he even cares to talk about it at all. If he does care, would he have addressed it by now, or is he simply waiting for Keith to say something? After all, Keith is the reason they’re here in the first place, Keith is the one who went off the rails and possibly ruined their friendship, _Keith_ is the one who—

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice that Lance has stopped what he’s doing. “Hey.” Keith’s breath catches in his throat as Lance lifts his hand to his face, gently but firmly tilting his chin up and forcing him to make eye contact. “I’m not mad.” 

Keith’s eyes widen and he guiltily averts his gaze, swallowing. “You probably should be,” he mumbles. 

Lance doesn’t let go just yet, Keith’s skin burning at every point of contact where Lance’s fingers touch his face, but after a moment he finally lowers his hand again, quiet. “I’m assuming someone told you, then.” 

Keith stares at a random point on the floor, curling his other hand into a fist in his lap. “Yeah.” 

Lance hums, not looking up from where he resumes wrapping Keith’s hand. “So you know that I’m actually—”

“Yes.” 

“And that I can’t actually—”

 _“Yes,”_ Keith snaps, shoulders hiking up toward his ears as his face flushes. “I got it, I’m an idiot.” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Lance’s mouth and he shakes his head. “Hey, you said it, not me.” He huffs another small, disbelieving laugh. “I just… I mean, honestly, Keith. Did you think I spent this much time in the infirmary just for fun?” 

Keith _did_ know that Lance often worked in the infirmary, but. “It’s not weird for campers who aren’t Apollo kids to volunteer,” he says defensively. “It seemed like something you would do.” 

“Heck, I have the highest marks in archery out of the entire camp,” Lance goes on. “And I’m not just saying that. Archery’s like, my thing. There’s a reason everyone calls me—”

“Sharpshooter,” Keith sighs. “I know.” 

“Plus, did you _ever_ see me sitting with the Aphrodite kids? All you had to do was look and you’d see me sitting at the Apollo table—”

“Both tables are on the complete opposite side of the room from mine!” Keith retorts, his voice cracking slightly. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to tell you! I just thought—I don’t know what I thought, okay? It just made sense at the time. You’re popular, and everyone likes you, and you’re always talking about your skincare routine or whatever—”

Lance snorts. “You thought I was an Aphrodite kid because of my skincare routine?” 

_“Ugh,”_ Keith groans, covering his face with his hand as Lance laughs again, bright and unabashed. “You don’t have to rub it in.” 

He realizes a second too late that he probably could’ve been a little more careful with his words. Lance’s gaze flicks up toward Keith as his smile falters, not completely but enough for Keith to know that he made the same connection to the start of their argument the other night. After a short moment he looks away, saying nothing else as he goes on to wrap the tape around his thumb and onto his wrist. 

Keith mentally slaps himself. If he could learn to actually think before he speaks, _ever,_ that would be great. 

It doesn’t take much longer for Lance to finish up. Once he’s deemed his work to be satisfactory, he carefully rips the tape to make a second end, wrapping the rest of its length around Keith’s wrist. Which should mean that they’re done, only Lance sets the extra supplies aside but doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand, instead pulling it closer to him and resting them on his knee. 

“Listen,” he sighs, and even with his entire hand covered in tape, Keith’s heart still skips a beat as Lance brushes his thumb over his palm. “Like I said, I’m not mad. Just, kind of annoyed that you avoided me for the last three days so I couldn’t find you and explain the situation myself.” 

Keith winces, sheepishly lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“I know. But seriously, Keith. If there’s ever another issue like that, misunderstanding or not, just—talk to me about it next time, okay?” He offers a small smile when Keith meets his gaze. “I’d never intentionally do anything to hurt you. I really want you to know that.” 

“I do know that,” Keith answers earnestly, and Lance’s smile grows a little at that. “I do. I just, I let my feelings get the best of me, so I jumped to conclusions and then… yeah. You know.” 

Lance chuckles softly, a welcome sound that lessens some of the guilt weighing heavily on Keith’s chest. “Yeah, I do.” 

They grow quiet, and for a moment it’s just the two of them in their own little bubble, smiling at each other in the dimness of the room as the rain patters gently against the windows. It doesn’t last very long though, because then Lance clears his throat and the moment breaks as he claps a hand on his knee. “Anyway, we should probably get going. C’mon, I’ll walk you back to your cabin.” Then he slides his hand out from underneath Keith’s and stands, which is when Keith realizes he still hadn’t let go. 

It only takes a minute for Lance to clean up a bit before they’re stepping out of the infirmary, making sure to keep under the awning so they don’t get wet while Lance locks up. This is necessary, says Lance, because of several previous cases of sleepwalking Hypnos kids.

Keith suddenly remembers the jacket in his hands and holds it out to Lance as he turns. “Here’s your jacket back.” 

Lance blinks at it. “Thank you,” he replies as he accepts it, then sweeps it around Keith’s shoulders with a flourish and yanks the hood over his head. 

“What—”

“It’s raining,” Lance interrupts, tying the sleeves into a makeshift knot so Keith can’t shrug it off. “And technically I’m still on duty, so it’s my job to take care of you until you are returned safely to your cabin.” 

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Let’s go!” Lance exclaims, darting out into the rain and pulling Keith along behind him. 

And of course, that’s the moment when the rain decides to start picking up. Keith yanks the hood further over his head with a yelp and Lance hoots, automatically sending them both into fits of laughter as they trip and stumble across the grass toward the cabins. They’re being much louder than they should be at this time of night, probably waking some of their fellow campers as they sprint across the clearing, but Keith honestly can’t find it in himself to feel bad about it. He can’t bring himself to care at all, not when the sound of Lance’s delighted laughter makes something warm bloom and flower in his chest, melting away the chill of the rain already seeping through his clothes the longer and farther they run.

By the time they make it to the Hermes cabin and crowd together underneath the awning on the tiny porch, panting and out of breath, it’s downright _pouring._ Keith takes one look at Lance and slaps both hands over his mouth to stifle his giggles, lest he risk waking all of his cabinmates. “Oh my gods,” he laughs breathlessly, clutching at his stomach. “Lance, you’re completely soaked.” 

“Worth it,” Lance grins, chest heaving slightly as he tries to catch his breath. He runs his fingers through his hair and twists his shirt to wring out some of the water, which is pointless when he’s about to have to go right back out into the rain. A few drops trickle down his face and cling to his chin before falling to the ground, and Keith has to rip his gaze away when he catches himself staring.

“Here,” Keith starts, glancing down and fumbling with the sleeves knotted around his shoulders. “Let me—”

“Dude, just keep it,” Lance cuts him off, waving him away. “I’m already drenched, it won’t do me any good. You can just give it back to me tomorrow, once it’s dry.” 

Keith glances uncertainly between Lance and the onslaught of rain beyond. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. I don’t mind the rain.” Lance tilts his head to the side and looks Keith up and down, smiling. “Besides, it looks good on you. Even if you’re not actually wearing it right.” 

Keith’s cheeks go pink. _He’s just being nice,_ he tells himself before his brain can go overboard, but it’s not very convincing, even to himself. “You’re the one who put it on me like this,” he points out. 

“And I stand by that,” Lance says solemnly, planting a hand over his heart. “Just take care of it for me. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” He flashes one last cheerful grin in Keith’s direction and turns to leave, but he only makes it down the first step of the porch before Keith’s hand is darting out and catching his sleeve. 

“Wait, Lance.” Lance stops in his tracks, looking back at Keith over his shoulder and blinking in confusion. Keith opens his mouth to speak again but nothing comes out, so he takes a deep breath and tries again. “Just… I’m really sorry. All that stuff I said the other day, about—just, I’m sorry.” He swallows, loosening his grip on Lance’s sleeve and lowering his eyes to the ground. “I made some really terrible assumptions about you.” 

He looks up as Lance turns fully back around and is surprised to see a small smile playing on his lips, amusement shining in his eyes. “I mean. I guess they weren’t all bad. I _am_ pretty flattered that you think I’m pretty enough to be an Aphrodite kid.” 

Keith groans, and Lance bursts into laughter as he yanks the drawstrings of his jacket to close the hood over his face. “Lance, please.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lance relents, although he giggles again at the sight of Keith pouting at him from the tiny space that’s left in the hood. “Apology accepted.” He seems to hesitate then, glancing around as if searching for eavesdroppers and shuffling his feet before looking back at Keith. “But, maybe… maybe you can make it up to me?” Keith cautiously stretches and lowers the hood from his head to let Lance know that he has his attention, folding his arms over his chest. “Tomorrow?” Lance continues hopefully, shifting his weight from one side to the other. “Meet me at the dock after lights out. We can go into the meadow and talk, look at the stars, whatever we feel like. Just the two of us.” 

Keith stares at him. _Just the two of us,_ his brain echoes. “Okay,” he hears himself say. 

Lance’s face lights up and he smiles, somehow bigger than he has all night. “Sweet. It’s a date.” 

And with that he turns, climbs down the last few steps, and sprints back out into the rain without another word, leaving Keith standing frozen and dumbfounded on the front porch of his cabin. He only turns around one more time to offer a small wave, and Keith is just barely self-aware enough to lift a hand and wave back before Lance disappears into the dark completely. Keith remains there long after Lance left, silent and unmoving as he attempts to process everything that just happened. 

_Maybe you can make it up to me?_

_Tomorrow? Just the two of us._

_Sweet. It’s a date._

Keith looks down at the jacket still tied around his shoulders, then presses his hands to his burning cheeks. 

_What. Just. Happened._

Eventually he has the good sense to actually go into his cabin, realizing that standing outside in the rain in the middle of the night in damp clothes is probably a great way to get sent back to the infirmary. His body mostly moves on autopilot, his mind still too dazed for him to do much more than go through the motions. He unknots the sleeves of Lance’s jacket and hangs it on the corner of his bunk to dry, staring at it for several moments longer than necessary before peeling his wet clothes off in exchange for some dry ones. 

Matt and the rest of his cabinmates are already asleep and snoring in their bunks when he climbs into bed, which is just as well, because if someone were to try to speak to Keith right now he’s not entirely sure he would hear them. His mind is too busy racing with a million thoughts and questions and yet it’s totally blank all at the same time. No matter what he does, no matter which way he turns, or how many times he tries closing his eyes, he can’t seem to shut it off. The same words echo in Keith’s head, over and over and over in Lance’s voice: _It’s a date._

Keith smashes his pillow over his blushing face and tries not to scream. 

Tomorrow is going to be the longest day of his life. 


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith can feel himself losing his composure, a familiar blush spreading uncontrollably up his neck and across his face while he continues to stumble through a hundred thoughts at once. “I’m saying—like, we’re not fighting, it’s kind of the opposite, because he—but I don’t know if—”   
> Shiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and probably thinking about how it’s way too early to be dealing with a flustered, panicked teenager. “Keith, you’re not making any sense—”   
> “It’s a date,” Keith blurts.   
> Shiro blinks at him, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “I’m sorry?”   
> “I mean—” Keith scrambles to explain himself, face flushing as he grasps desperately for the right words. “He did. Said. He said it is.”   
> “Who said what is what now?”  
> Keith makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, burying his face in his hands. “Lance,” he finally manages, voice muffled. “Last night, when he walked me back to my cabin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time no see! i decided to split the rest of the fic into two more chapters since it's been a while and i'm still not quite finished with what i plan to write. sorry to keep you guys waiting a little longer, but keith and lance's ✨date✨ will be in the third chapter ;)

Keith wakes up and Lance is the first thing on his mind, from the moment his eyes open and his mind clears enough to form a coherent thought. It makes his face flush and his palms sweat at an alarming speed, memories from last night instantly flooding his thoughts as if his brain was simply waiting for him to drift back into consciousness so they could pick up right where they left off. 

_ Sweet. It’s a date. _

Yes, it’s a date. Tonight. With Lance. Keith is going on a date with Lance tonight. 

He’s been awake for hardly two minutes and he’s already losing his mind. 

Which is how he finds himself standing outside the Zeus cabin, fully dressed and wide awake far earlier than he needs to be or has been for days. The camp’s usual wake-up call isn’t for another half hour at least, but that doesn’t stop Keith from rapping his knuckles against the door, biting his lip and stepping back. One, two, three seconds pass and he still hasn’t been struck down by a bolt of lightning from an irritated, sleep-deprived Zeus kid, so he steps forward and knocks again, a little more insistently this time.

He’s about to knock a third time when he hears a thump and some shuffling from inside, followed by a few muffled curses that he can’t quite make out before the door is swinging open. 

Shiro’s bedhead is legendary, to say the least. Keith knows that his own hair is privy to some pretty impressive cowlicks, but today Shiro takes home first prize. He rubs his eyes and visibly struggles to fight back a yawn, looking every bit like he’s just dragged himself out of his warm, cozy, bed. Of course, that’s because he did. 

“Keith?” Shiro blinks several times, probably still trying to get the sleep out of his eyes. “What—” 

“I need to talk to you,” Keith interrupts, impatient. 

Shiro stares at him, squinting blearily into the light of the rising sun behind them. “Right now?” Keith makes a distressed sort of noise in the back of his throat and Shiro immediately sighs in defeat, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright, just—give me a minute.” 

He disappears back into the cabin, closing the door behind him. Keith shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair and then starting to pace back and forth across the porch while he waits. It’s not long before Shiro returns, a bit more comfortably dressed for the cool morning and hair tamed into its usual state. He seems more urgent than he had been only a moment before, like the extra minute or two of wakefulness was all he needed to overlook the annoyance of being woken up early and replace it with concern. 

He’s hardly made it out the door before he’s bombarding Keith with questions. “How do you feel? Are you even supposed to be up right now? Shouldn’t you be resting?” 

“I’m fine,” Keith answers, knowing that Shiro wouldn’t stop pestering him about it otherwise and wanting to get this part of the conversation over with as quickly as possible. “And I got plenty of rest last night.” Shiro makes a face, clearly not convinced, and Keith groans. “I’m serious! Nearly eleven hours, I counted.” 

“How’s your hand?” 

Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes, flattening the hand in question against his thigh. “I think I can handle a couple of blisters, Shiro.” 

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Shiro points out. 

“Look, can we just—” Keith cuts himself off, pressing his fingers to his temples. He’s trying not to get frustrated, because he knows Shiro is being genuine and he doesn’t want to say anything that might hurt Shiro’s feelings but he doesn’t have  _ time  _ for the mama bear act right now. Luckily Shiro seems to sense that, placing a hand on his back and guiding him farther away from the cabin where their conversation can’t be overheard. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, letting his arm fall away from Keith and turning to face him. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. Yesterday seemed pretty bad.” 

“I know,” Keith mumbles, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry for being snappy. I really am fine, though.” 

“So what’s wrong?” 

Keith glances up at Shiro, then away as he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. Now that he finally has the chance to speak without any interruptions, it all feels a little… well, ridiculous. “Oh, right. Yeah. I mean—I guess I just need some advice.” 

Shiro’s brows knit together and he hums sympathetically. “Lance is upset with you, huh?” 

“Uh. That’s the thing, actually.” Keith clears his throat, looking down and shuffling his feet awkwardly, nudging at a rock on the ground with the toe of his boot. “He wasn’t mad.” 

“Oh.” Shiro’s shoulders slump slightly as if in relief, but his mouth turns down into a frown just as quickly. “Then, what’s the problem?” 

“There isn’t a  _ problem,  _ necessarily, just—I mean, it’s not that it’s bad, because it’s good, or at least I think it is? Yeah. So no. Not. There isn’t.” 

“Huh?” 

Keith can feel himself losing his composure, a familiar blush spreading uncontrollably up his neck and across his face while he continues to stumble through a hundred thoughts at once. “I’m saying—like, we’re not fighting, it’s kind of the opposite, because he—but I don’t know if—” 

Shiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and probably thinking about how it’s way too early to be dealing with a flustered, panicked teenager. “Keith, you’re not making any sense—” 

“It’s a date,” Keith blurts. 

Shiro blinks at him, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “I’m sorry?” 

“I mean—” Keith scrambles to explain himself, face flushing as he grasps desperately for the right words. “He did. Said. He said it is.” 

“Who said what is what now?”

Keith makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, burying his face in his hands.  _ “Lance,”  _ he finally manages, voice muffled. “Last night, when he walked me back to my cabin.” 

There is a moment of silence. Keith deeply dreads the expression he’ll see on Shiro’s face when he looks back up. Sure enough, when he forces himself to peel his hands away he finds that Shiro’s demeanor has transformed entirely, having clearly shifted into Torture Keith mode. 

“Oh. My.  _ Gods.”  _ Shiro squishes his own cheeks between his hands, grossly contorting the enormous grin that’s already spread across his face. “Lance actually asked you out?” 

“You don’t have to sound so surprised about it!” Keith snaps, face burning. 

“Oh my gods.” Shiro repeats, pressing his fingers to his mouth and beaming like an absolute moron. “Tell me  _ everything.”  _

“I don’t have time to go into the details!” Keith retorts, bristling. “I just—I need you to tell me what to do.” 

Shiro’s smile disappears and he stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Keith would know, he’s seen him fight a hydra. “What do you mean? You said yes, didn’t you?” 

“I’m dumb, not stupid,” Keith mutters. 

“C’mon, give me some context. I’m assuming you guys talked things out yesterday?” 

Keith folds his arms over his chest and looks down, kicking at a clump of grass. “Yeah.” 

“You apologized for blowing up on him?” 

Keith hunches his shoulders. “Yes.” 

“And he told you he’s actually—”

“Gods, Shiro, what do you think ‘talking things out’ means?”

“I’m just trying to get the full picture!” Shiro answers defensively, ignoring Keith’s huff of annoyance. 

“Look, all you need to know is that he said, and I quote, ‘it’s a date’.”

“To which you said yes, as you so kindly clarified. So what’s the problem?” 

“I mean, is there some sort of protocol for this?” Keith asks desperately. “Like, if I see him today, am I supposed to say something about it? What if  _ he  _ says something about it? Do I need to wear something nice? The nicest shirt I have is from that thrift store you took me to three years ago and don’t even get me started on my pants—” 

“Keith, buddy,” Shiro laughs, planting his hands on Keith’s shoulders and forcing him to take a breath. “Relax. Trust me, you’re majorly overthinking this. You’re not going to a five-star restaurant, you’re just… what is it you’re doing?” 

“As if I’d tell you,” Keith deadpans. “The last thing I want is for you and Adam to crash my date.” 

“Worth a shot,” Shiro shrugs, earning a half-hearted glare from Keith. “But my point still stands. You don’t need to feel like you need to impress him, okay? He asked you out, so clearly you’ve already done that. Besides, isn’t this what you wanted?” 

Keith exhales, letting his shoulders slump under Shiro’s weight and glancing down at his feet. “I… yeah, of course it is. But—” 

“Look, I get it.” Shiro smiles sympathetically when Keith looks up at him, voice softening. “You’re nervous. It’d be weird if you weren’t. But this is Lance we’re talking about, right? You’re going to have a great time. Besides, I’m sure he’s just as nervous.” 

“Yeah, right,” Keith mumbles. “I have a hard time believing that.” 

“Hard time believing what?” 

Adam appears at Shiro’s side so suddenly that Keith swears he materialized there, startling him and Shiro both. Keith shoots him an exasperated look and he huffs. “What? You guys know I like to walk in the mornings.” 

And then, before Keith so much has the chance to open his mouth and stop him, Shiro latches onto Adam’s arm and says, eyes sparkling: “Lance finally asked Keith out.” 

Adam’s mouth quite literally drops open. “You’re serious? After all that?” Shiro nods fervently and Adam blinks as he turns to look at Keith, whose face is now beet-red. “Wow. That kid must be  _ whipped.”  _

“You guys are the most unhelpful people on the planet,” Keith deadpans, turning on his heel and dutifully ignoring the resulting laughter that comes from behind him. 

By the time he stomps back to the Hermes cabin, the wake-up call has already blasted throughout the camp (compliments of some sort of megaphone on steroids that the Hephaestus cabin built). Some of his cabinmates are rustling around when he steps inside, others still lying in bed unmoving and trying to savor even just one more minute of sleep. Like Matt, whose head pops out from underneath his covers as Keith is approaching their bunk, his hair a wild mop that has Keith doing a double take.

“Your hair’s blue,” Keith says, blinking up at him. 

Matt sighs. “Pidge,” he grumbles, and then disappears back underneath his sheets. Keith decides not to question it. 

Since he’s already dressed, he sloppily makes his bed and climbs into the corner with his sketchbook, figuring he’s got a few spare minutes to finish that one drawing he’s been putting off ever since the night he fought with Lance. Now that things have been cleared up, it doesn’t seem quite as daunting as it used to. Maybe he can finish it in time for their date tonight. It’d be nice to have something to give Lance, especially after all the trouble he’s gone to just to put out the fires he didn’t even start. Keith has a feeling he’ll be spending a while trying to make up for it. 

At some point he hears Matt shuffling around above him, presumably dragging himself out of bed to get ready for breakfast. There are a few snickers around the cabin when he thumps onto the floor; it’s kind of hard to ignore his hair, but the Holt kids are known throughout camp for their elaborate pranks on each other, so no one is ever surprised for long. Matt mumbles a tired ‘hello’ and disappears into the bathroom, all of which Keith is too preoccupied to really notice. Not until he comes back a minute or two later, at least. 

“What’s this?” 

Keith hardly spares a glance at first, only for his head to snap back up in horror to find Matt holding Lance’s jacket. “Give me that!” He all but leaps across the bed to snatch it out of Matt’s grasp, cheeks burning at the subtle lift of his eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a knowing smile. “It’s not what you think.” 

Matt hums, lifting his hand to stroke his chin. “Or is it?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Keith scowls, stuffing the jacket into the corner behind him. “He only gave it to me because it was raining when he brought me back from the infirmary.” 

“What were you guys doing in the infirmary?” 

Keith hesitates. “Training accident.” 

Matt’s smile grows, clearly not convinced by Keith’s sort of half-truth. “Is that so?” 

“Yes!” Keith insists, waving his wrapped hand in Matt’s direction for emphasis. “That’s it, now just leave it alone.” 

“Whatever you say,” Matt shrugs, turning away to rummage through the trunk at the foot of their bed while Keith hunches back over his sketchbook, grumbling to himself. 

The cabin slowly begins to grow less crowded as everyone gets ready and heads out for the day, which Keith is grateful for because it means less noise, which means better concentration. His drawing is finally starting to look like a picture coming together rather than just a bunch of random lines scattered across the page. It’s kind of like that moment every season, when he looks up and finally notices how much the world has started to change around him, how green the trees are getting and how blue the sky is compared to the leafless branches and bleak gray of the fading winter. That’s how he knows he’s getting somewhere with a sketch, giving him that last burst of motivation he needs to finish. 

There’s nothing particularly special about this one. By now he must have a drawing of every place of interest within the camp, which is a lot bigger than it looks and fills the majority of the pages in his sketchbook. They’ve been good practice, even if some of them aren’t all that interesting to look at. But the one he’s working on now, the one he’s  _ been  _ working on since his feelings for Lance forcefully clawed their way up to the surface where they couldn’t be ignored any longer—it’s not just another pretty camp destination, it  _ means  _ something to him. Considering how the meadow seems to be the place where everything is coming full circle, it feels pretty significant.

He’s just starting to put the finishing touches on the treeline along the edge of the lake when Matt calls his name, this time from the front of the cabin. “Hey, Keith!”

“Hm?” Keith hums distractedly, which usually wouldn’t be loud enough to be heard across the cabin except that it’s mostly empty by now.

“You have a visitor!” 

Keith immediately lifts his head, the suspiciously casual tone of Matt’s voice cause for instant concern. Also, a visitor?  _ Now? _ He couldn’t possibly be in trouble already, they haven’t even gone to breakfast yet, and by now Shiro and Adam are too busy with head counselor duties to come bother him. So who in the world… He ducks his head slightly, peering through the bunk beds standing between him and the door as he tries to get a better look, but Matt is in the way so he gives in and rolls off his bed. 

“Matt, you better not be trying to rope me into one of your prank wars with Pidge again. I already told you, I—oh.” Keith’s feet stutter to a stop at the door as Matt steps aside to reveal none other than Lance, whose face breaks out into a smile when their eyes meet. 

“Hey!” he says brightly, posture straightening and hands sliding out of his pockets. 

Keith is so dumbstruck that he nearly forgets to say hi back. “U-uh. Hi,” he stammers, having apparently forgotten how to speak in the last few seconds. “I mean, hey.” He grimaces at himself, and Lance’s shoulders tremble like he’s trying not to laugh, but at least Matt has the decency not to say anything about Keith’s embarrassing ineptitude. 

Instead he just clears his throat, shooting Keith a knowing look that makes his cheeks burn. “Well, I’m heading to the pavilion. See you guys there?” 

Lance nods, friendly as ever. “Yep! Thanks, Matt. Nice hair, by the way. I have to say, it’s a good look on you.” 

“Right? Honestly, I think Pidge did me a favor. Joke’s on them.” He and Lance fist bump each other and then he’s off, slipping out of the cabin with one last wave. “Don’t worry Keith, I’ll save you a spot!”

Keith starts slightly, having been preoccupied with staring at Lance and the curve of his mouth as he’d chuckled to himself. “Oh, that’s ok, you don’t have to—and… he’s gone.” 

Lance starts laughing again, shaking his head as Keith sighs. “He’s  _ way _ faster than he looks.” 

“Typical Hermes kid, I guess,” Keith shrugs, feeling himself relax a little as Lance snorts in agreement, even if his heart is still leaping nervously in his chest. He wasn’t expecting to see Lance this early in the day, maybe not even until this afternoon, and suddenly all of the fears he’d voiced to Shiro just half an hour ago are staring him right in the face. Is he supposed to say something about their conversation last night? About  _ tonight?  _ Should he mention their date tonight to make clear that he’s looking forward to it, or is that too much? Or maybe—oh, gods. What if Lance is here because he came to his senses and changed his mind? Maybe he realized he doesn’t actually want this and he came to put Keith out of his misery before he got his hopes up too high. See, this is what he gets for asking Shiro for dating advice. 

“Uh—sorry for dropping by unannounced,” Lance says quickly, like he can see the quiet panic on Keith’s face and the subsequent downward spiral of his brain. “I just wanted to check on you before breakfast. You know, see how your hand was doing and stuff.” 

Keith blinks, his frenzied thoughts screeching to a halt. “Oh. Oh, right. It’s fine, I think.” He looks down at the hand in question, flexing his fingers and wrinkling his nose at the feeling of the tape digging into his skin. “Kind of stiff, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

“That’s good. The ambrosia probably fixed it up overnight, but keep it on for training at least, okay? Doctor’s orders.” 

Keith scoffs, but he’s unable to hide the upward turn of his mouth. “Okay, fine. Message received.” 

“Just make sure you actually, like. You know.” Lance taps his own temple, raising one eyebrow. “Process it? Take it to heart? Before you forget and go back to working yourself into the ground.” 

“No promises.” 

Lance rolls his eyes good-naturedly, shaking his head again when Keith just smiles innocently. “You’re a terrible patient.”

“Thank you,” Keith says, nodding solemnly.

_“Anyway,”_ Lance huffs, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” 

Keith’s smile instantly disappears as Lance glances off to the side, shuffling his feet.  _ Oh, no _ .  _ Zeus, strike me down,  _ he thinks to himself. “Oh. What is it?” 

“Well… I was just thinking. About last night, I mean, and I know I sort of sprung that last thing on you, so—what I’m trying to say is that I understand if you’ve changed your mind, and you won’t hurt my feelings or anything if you say no.” Lance takes a deep breath, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to help himself keep still while Keith stares at him. “All that to say, I just wanted to ask if we’re still on for tonight?” 

Keith’s heart skips a beat as he realizes exactly what Lance means, noting the way he looks up at him with an uncharacteristically shy expression on his face. Maybe Shiro was right after all—Lance is nervous too. The fact that  _ Keith  _ of all people is the cause of it makes his face flush.  _ Never mind about the striking me down thing,  _ he thinks quickly, just in case.  _ False alarm.  _

He eagerly nods an affirmative, not wanting Lance to misinterpret his brief inability to speak as hesitation. “Yes. Yeah, of course.”

Lance smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he lowers his gaze again. “I just—I don’t want you to feel like you  _ have  _ to, you know? Because I sort of framed it that way without realizing which is what kind of made a mess between us in the first place, and I would hate to do that again—” 

“No, Lance, it’s okay,” Keith interrupts, stepping forward without really meaning to as Lance lifts his head, blinking in surprise. “You didn’t frame it that way at all. Besides, I want to.” 

The small smile that appears on Lance’s face is much more genuine this time, shoulders visibly sinking with relief. “Okay. Cool.” 

They stand there in silence for a moment, neither of them sure what to say or do next. It’s awkward, but Keith finds that he doesn’t mind it as much as he once might have. There’s a quiet sort of anticipation in the air between them that makes his fingers twitch and his heart race, but knowing he’s not the only one whose nerves are getting to him is actually more comforting than anything. 

As always, Lance is the one to speak first, clearing his throat and shifting back and forth on his toes. “Well, I guess I should let you go. Gotta get ready and stuff.” 

Keith starts a little, having practically forgotten that they’re supposed to be in the dining pavilion within the next five minutes or so. “Oh. Yeah, right, of course.” 

Lance slides his hands out of his pockets as he turns to leave then seems to hesitate, eyes flicking back and forth uncertainly between Keith’s. Keith is confused at first when Lance steps closer to him instead of away, unsure what he’s trying to do. Is this like the part where they’re supposed to hug, or…? It’s not even until after Lance has pulled away and is scampering down the steps of the cabin that Keith realizes he’s just been kissed on the cheek. By Lance. Lance kissed him on the cheek. 

“Bye, Keith!” Lance waves over his shoulder, already jogging across the clearing. “See you tonight!” 

“Okay,” is all Keith manages to say back, mostly to himself since Lance is easily out of earshot by now. The sense of  déjà vu as he watches Lance jog back toward his own cabin is overwhelming, leaving Keith standing in the exact same spot on the porch with the exact same mystified expression on his face as he did last night. Once Lance is completely out of view, Keith comes to his senses and steps inside, closing the door behind him and leaning his back against it in a daze. 

It’ll be a miracle if he even makes it through breakfast.

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

As promised, Matt has saved Keith a seat when he makes it to breakfast. Keith supposes he should be grateful, considering he’s a few minutes late and otherwise would’ve had to squeeze himself into a spot that wasn’t really there between two other campers. Matt is already deep into conversation with Olia and Nyma, so Keith quietly takes his plate and heads toward the bonfire in the center of the pavilion, doing his best to be as discreet as possible.

He’s always hated this part of every meal. Not only do the gods constantly prove themselves to be selfish and arrogant with virtually no concern or sympathy for their children, but Keith’s godly parent hasn’t even bothered to claim him after all this time. He’s been at Camp Half-Blood for  _ years  _ and hasn’t received a single sign as to who they could be. His mom left when he was just a baby—that’s what his dad told him anyway, but he never made any sort of indication that she had been a literal goddess. Even if she had been, his dad died before Keith was old enough to understand the situation, had it been explained to him. 

Either way, Keith has very little respect for the gods and absolutely none whatsoever for his godly parent. The least they could do is own up to his existence, and they’ve declined to do even that. Why should Keith be forced to offer a single thing to a bunch of lousy gods who only ever pay their kids a visit when it’s for their own gain? It doesn’t help that he can always feel people staring, eyes boring into his back with their pitying gazes. Everyone here knows he hasn’t been claimed, despite the number of campers who arrived after he did and were claimed in no time at all. 

There are campers here who don’t even believe he’s a demigod, and honestly, he doesn’t blame them. Shiro says he’s just a late bloomer, but Keith is seventeen now and doesn’t have an inkling of what he’s supposed to be able to do. He’s kept up with the other campers in training just fine, even excelled in some areas of combat, but he’s never had the added advantage of powers like the others do. Adam says there have been rare cases (very,  _ very  _ rare) of demigods who have no powers. Allura says that sometimes it takes a significant, emotionally charged, life-changing event for a demigod to fully unlock their powers (as if losing both of his parents wasn’t enough).

Long story short, people say a lot of things. It’d be nice to know what, if any of it, is true.

Keith steps up to the bonfire with a quiet sigh, squinting a little when the heat of the flames hit his face. He stands there for a bit longer than necessary before glancing down at his plate, resisting the urge to simply turn around and walk away without offering anything. “To the gods,” he mumbles eventually, scraping a generous helping of berries and cheese into the fire and watching it go up in a plume of smoke. He probably wasn’t going to eat much of it anyway.

By the time he comes back to the table, Matt and Nyma are arguing about which of them has pulled the best prank, so he slips into his spot mostly unnoticed and pops a grape into his mouth. He tries to follow along and appear interested, but it’s hard to do when his mind keeps getting distracted by the thought of his date with Lance tonight. His cheek is still tingling where Lance had kissed him earlier, and just thinking about it is enough to make his stomach explode into butterflies. 

He peers over his shoulder in an attempt to get a good look at the Apollo table, but as always it’s too far away and blocked by pretty much every other table. He wonders if Lance has ever tried to get a good look at  _ his  _ table only to have the same problem. Why in the world do their tables have to be on complete opposite ends of the pavilion? Gods, this is so high school. Keith didn’t even  _ go  _ to high school.

It’s getting harder and harder for Keith to sit still. Part of it is probably the ADHD (hashtag just demigod things), the rest of it is pure nervous energy. If his leg bounces any faster his knee is going to start bumping the table, and that won’t be fun for anyone (it happens a lot, and it’s never fun). He’s gotta blow off some steam. 

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, mister?” 

Keith freezes halfway out of his seat, looking very much like a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. He glances sideways at Matt and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I was just—” 

“Nope!” Matt smacks his hand down on the table, startling several of their cabinmates in the process. “You’re gonna sit right back down and eat every single one of those grapes, or you’ll be stuck here until you die. I’m under strict orders from Lance not to let you out of my sight until you’ve eaten a proper meal.” 

Keith’s cheeks heat up. “What? He said that?” 

“Yes, and quite frankly he threatened bodily harm if I didn’t follow through on this promise, so I humbly request that you please, for the love of the gods, sit and eat your food.”

Keith sheepishly lowers himself back down into his seat, fixing his gaze on his plate of food and trying not to sulk as he reluctantly pops another grape into his mouth.

_ “And  _ the cheese,” Matt adds.

“But—” Keith starts to protest, but the look Matt gives him makes most of his words die in his throat. “I’m lactose intolerant,” he tries weakly. 

Matt scoffs. “Lance told me you would say that, and that it’s true but also that it’s never stopped you before.” 

Keith drops his elbows onto the table and buries his face in his hands with a groan. How is Lance both an angel in disguise and the bane of his existence at the same time? “He works in the infirmary, shouldn’t he be trying  _ not  _ to enable me?”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger,” Matt shrugs, taking an enormous bite of his bread roll. He pauses, chewing thoughtfully before a pleased grin spreads across his face. “Heh, messenger. Get it? Because—”

“Hermes, messenger of the gods,” Keith sighs, staring forlornly down at his uneaten food. “I get it.” 

Matt chuckles to himself. “I’m hilarious.”

“That’s debatable,” Nyma replies, which pretty instantly sparks a joke contest among half the table. 

As with most things, Keith declines to participate. Instead he sits and quietly eats his grapes (and cheese,  _ and  _ bread), mind racing and heartbeat stuttering every time he so much as thinks about Lance, internally bemoaning the seemingly unending amount of time between now and when they’re supposed to meet at the dock. This, he thinks, is what torture must be like. 

(In the end, he eats every last crumb he can find on his plate. Just for Lance.)


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wonders, theoretically, exactly how fast his heart can beat before it gives out completely. Personally, he hypothesizes that it can break the sound barrier, which exceeds the human’s average heart rate by approximately 767.5 mph, and he’ll still be just fine. How does he know this? Because that’s how fast his heart is beating right now, laying in bed in the darkness of his cabin while he waits for everyone else to fall asleep so he can sneak out to meet up with a cute boy and frolic through the meadow in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at long last....... their date :')

Keith wonders, theoretically, exactly how fast his heart can beat before it gives out completely. Personally, he hypothesizes that it can break the sound barrier, which exceeds the human’s average heart rate by approximately 767.5 mph, and he’ll still be just fine. How does he know this? Because that’s how fast his heart is beating right now, laying in bed in the darkness of his cabin while he waits for everyone else to fall asleep so he can sneak out to meet up with a cute boy and frolic through the meadow in the middle of the night. 

Furthermore, it follows logically that by the time he meets up with the aforementioned cute boy, his heart rate will greatly exceed the sound barrier. By how much, he’s not sure, but either way it doesn’t make much of a difference. His hypothesis here is looking more than a little bleak.

Lights out was technically twenty minutes ago, but he wants to be extra sure that everyone is asleep before he tries anything. He’s snuck out of the cabin more times than he can count for all kinds of reasons and never been caught, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. This time shouldn’t be any harder than the others, but he’s not willing to risk messing it up. He’d rather be late to his date than miss it altogether because he got sloppy.

Matt’s snoring from the top bunk is Keith’s cue. There’s not a soul in camp who could possibly fake it, which means that yes, he is officially asleep. Keith takes a deep breath and slowly peels back his covers, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stills for a moment, listening for any sort of movement that might indicate someone else is awake. Nothing happens, so he exhales quietly and slips to the floor, grabbing Lance’s jacket from where it’s been hanging on the bedpost and heading for the door.

He “went to bed early” today, specifically so no one would question it when he climbed into bed wearing his everyday clothes and shoes. Shiro had said it wasn’t necessary, but Keith decided to wear his nicest shirt anyway—the thrift store shirt, a plain red pocket tee that had been much too big for him when he first got it but that he loved anyway. That, and his least holey pair of jeans. (Literally. He counted.)

Once safely outside, he checks the pocket of Lance’s jacket one more time, shoulders sinking in relief when he sees the neatly folded piece of paper tucked inside. After training he’d gone straight to the Hermes cabin to work on his drawing of the meadow, putting the finished product directly into the pocket of Lance’s jacket before he could forget about it (not that he would have). He must’ve checked a dozen times before climbing into bed earlier, but he wants to be surer than sure that it’s still there. 

The trip to the dock isn’t very long, only a few minutes or so, but to Keith it feels like ages. At multiple points he has to resist the urge to run—the only reason he doesn’t is because of the possibility of Lance seeing, and he’s had enough embarrassment in the past few days to last him for a while. Lance’s jacket weighs heavily in his arms, and Keith checks the pocket twice more to make sure the paper hasn’t somehow fallen out without him noticing. As much as he loves having an article of Lance’s clothing, at this point he just wants it out of his hands if only to stop obsessing over it, but he’ll have to wait until they’re in the meadow for that.

Usually it’d be too dark to make anything out, but with a full moon and a clear sky, there’s plenty of light for him to see the dock when he comes over the hill that leads down to the lake. It’s the perfect night; not too warm, not too cool, a comforting breeze that thankfully _doesn’t_ blow Keith’s hair out of control drifting across the clearing, water rippling gently as moonlight dances across its surface. Any other day, he would pause and take the time to appreciate and soak in the view, but as of right now he’s a little preoccupied searching for something else. 

His heart skips a beat when his eyes land on a dark figure at the end of the dock, legs dangling over the edge and swinging back and forth in the water. It has to be Lance—for obvious reasons—and Keith has probably already kept him waiting for a while, but now that he’s practically there he finds himself hesitating. It’s not that he’s having second thoughts, but… is this really such a good idea? Is he even ready for this? He’s been hurt a lot in the past, anyone close to him knows that he has more than a few unresolved issues, and he would hate for Lance to get tangled up in that mess. And what if everything about tonight goes wrong? Keith is great at messing things up, as evidenced by the past week. He’s just lucky Lance had the good grace to forgive him. But even worse, what if this is all some sort of elaborate prank, what if this doesn’t mean nearly as much to Lance as it does to Keith, what if—

Keith immediately dismisses those thoughts with a shake of his head. No way that’s even within the realm of possibility. Lance told him that he would never intentionally hurt him, and Keith believes him. Besides, he’s pretty sure Lance wouldn’t have showed up at his cabin this morning worried that he had _asked him out_ wrong, or kissed him on the cheek, if he wasn’t serious about this. So Keith takes a deep breath, steels himself, and begins his descent toward the lake. 

Lance hasn’t turned around by the time Keith reaches the dock, face still turned up to the sky. Keith thanks his lucky stars for that, because if Lance had spotted him while he was on the way down the hill he thinks he would’ve frozen up like a deer in the headlights. His heart is beating much too irregularly in his chest than could possibly be healthy as he takes a tentative step onto the old wooden planks. 

“Hi,” he says, hoping he’s close enough for his voice to be heard over the sound of the water lapping at the shoreline. 

Lance turns to look over his shoulder, sitting up straight and face brightening the second he sees him. “Keith!” 

He almost sounds surprised, and Keith really hopes it’s not because he was afraid that Keith had second thoughts. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he adds quickly, watching as Lance climbs to his feet and jogs down the length of the dock to meet him. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t get caught.”

“Don’t worry, I only got here a couple minutes ago,” Lance assures him, tucking his hands into his pockets and smiling. “Your timing is perfect.”

Keith relaxes slightly, but there’s still a tightness in his chest that can only be explained by his nerves. He shuffles his feet as he searches for something to say, glancing down and suddenly remembering what he’s holding. “Oh, uh—here’s your jacket back.” 

He holds it out and Lance grins as he takes it. “Thanks, man. I knew you’d take good care of it.” Keith doesn’t even know why that makes him blush but it does, even more so when Lance winks at him. “Plus, I thought it’d be a good incentive. You know, in case you got cold feet.” 

Keith feels the way his own face falls. “I wouldn’t have—” 

Lance must realize that his quip didn’t land so well, because his eyes widen and he rushes to fix it. “No, I know you wouldn’t have, I was just—teasing.” 

“Oh.” Keith’s face continues to burn. “Right.” 

Lance offers another small smile that Keith forces himself to return despite the frantic swooping in his stomach. He’s so nervous, he’s not sure how long he’ll make it before embarrassing himself beyond the point of no return (more than he already has). They’re on their way into an awkward silence, he can tell, it’s one of his worst fears and he’s at an utter loss of what he’s supposed to say. Usually Lance has no problem keeping up a conversation, but that’s probably hard to do when Keith has the social skills of a brick wall. Not that they’ve never had a one-on-one conversation, because they’ve had tons, but never like this. This is unfamiliar territory for both of them, and especially Keith, because—

“I’ve never done this before,” Keith blurts. Lance’s expression morphs into one of confusion and Keith grimaces, scrambling for words. “I’m sorry. Been on a date, I mean. I—this is just, really new to me.” 

He shifts his weight anxiously as Lance stares at him, mouth hanging open slightly like he doesn’t quite understand. “Really?” he asks, genuine disbelief in his voice. 

Keith huffs, averting his gaze. “Being homeless and on the run at seven years old didn’t exactly bode well for my dating life.” Lance is quiet for a moment. Keith wishes he knew what he was thinking, but mostly he’s afraid of what it would be, if Lance is starting to realize he’s made a mistake or if he’s embarrassed and wondering how he got himself into this situation at all. 

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never done this before either?” 

Keith’s head snaps up. No. No, he would not. “What?” 

Lance smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… also kinda hard to date when you keep getting kicked out of school.” 

He’s not the only demigod at camp who was regularly kicked out of school, not even close, but Keith still has to try not to laugh at the image of a young Lance standing in front of a smouldering elementary school. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” 

“Here.” Lance tosses his jacket onto the dock beside him, taking Keith’s hand and tugging him forward. “I wanna show you something.” Keith is too busy staring at their connected hands to say anything back, letting himself be pulled along the dock until they reach the other end. He internally laments the loss of warmth in his hand when Lance lets go to point down into the water, eyes glittering in the moonlight. “There.” 

Keith follows Lance’s gaze and searches for anything of interest in the water below, but even with what light they have, it’s much too dark to see anything. He glances sideways at Lance, then back into the water. “Um… what am I looking for?” 

“It’s kind of hard to see,” Lance admits, lowering himself onto his knees. “You probably need to get closer.” 

Keith follows suit and carefully lowers himself onto his knees, leaning as far over the edge of the dock as he dares. He can see maybe an inch or so into the water, but other than that it’s nothing but darkness. “I still don’t see anything. Are you sure—” 

That’s all he gets to say before suddenly he’s falling headfirst into the water with a yelp, nearly swallowing a mouthful in his surprise. His arms flail uselessly for a moment as his body floats in the chilly darkness, unsure which way is up or down, before his brain seems to process his orientation and sends him splashing back to the surface. He breaks free and gasps for air, coughing and spluttering and spitting out the clumps of hair sticking to his face. “Lance, what—” 

“Geronimo!” Lance yells, and promptly cannonballs into the lake directly beside Keith, who does his best to shield his face at the last second from the fresh onslaught of water. He shoots Lance a bewildered look when he reappears a few feet away with an enormous grin on his face, turning over to float on his back.

“What in the name of—what was that for?” 

“Nothing!” Lance insists, stroking through the water so he’s closer to Keith. “I just thought this would be a nice way to undercut the awkwardness we’re both feeling, that’s all.” 

“Oh, because shoving your date into the lake in the middle of the night is _so_ romantic,” Keith retorts, but Lance is right. He’s already laughing, and only laughs more when he swings his arm and sends an arc of water in Lance’s direction and sends him diving for cover. 

Lance comes back up and takes a gulping breath before grinning, running his fingers through his wet bangs and flattening them back. “I know, right? Aphrodite _wishes_ she had these skills.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Oh, yeah. You’re feeling super romanced right now.”

Keith sends another small wave of water toward Lance, laughing again when he sends one right back, and soon enough they’re in a full-out splash war. The warm night air is filled with the sound of splashing and laughter, starlight rippling around them and water flying in all directions. Keith can hardly see through the hair plastered to his face, his wet bangs flopping into his eyes every time he tries to push them back, but it’s not enough to deter him. All he has to do is follow the sound of Lance’s sweet, melodic laughter to know where he should splash next. 

“I can’t believe you,” Keith complains, sputtering when he accidentally swallows a mouthful of the water Lance has just shoved at him. “I wore my nicest shirt for you and everything!” 

Lance is still giggling uncontrollably, struggling to stay afloat as he clutches at his stomach. “Aw, you did? That’s so sweet.” 

Keith points an accusatory finger at him. “Take it back.” 

“No!” Keith opens his mouth to complain some more, but Lance dives forward and grabs onto his shoulders before he gets the chance, dragging them both down into the water. They grapple with each other for a moment, but Keith is spending most of his energy on containing his laughter to avoid swallowing another mouthful of lakewater, so Lance breaks free of his grip almost immediately and kicks back up to the surface. He grins at Keith over his shoulder when he resurfaces as well, shaking his hair out of his face. “Last one back to the dock is a rotten egg!” 

“If you thought you had a chance at actually winning you wouldn’t be such a cheater!” Keith calls, as Lance is already well on his way to shore with no signs of slowing for a fair race. Lance is easily the better swimmer though, so it probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference. 

Which makes the look on his face when he sees Keith clambering onto the edge of the dock after his third attempt to hoist himself out of the water far enough to reach it that much sweeter. Keith pants slightly as he climbs to his feet, soaking wet and dripping all over the wooden planks with a triumphant smile. “I win.” 

Lance shoves him back into the water. In hindsight, Keith probably should’ve seen that coming a million miles away, but it’s worth it to hear the sound of Lance’s laughter again.

“So.” Lance’s eyes glitter as he takes Keith’s hand and helps him back onto the dock, smiling as he draws them away from the edge. “Did it work?” 

Keith hums, acting as though he needs a moment to think about it. “Yeah,” he admits, heart fluttering as he laces his fingers through Lance’s before he can let go. “I’d say so.” 

Lance’s answering smile is even more blinding than the last. “Are you sufficiently wooed?” 

“Pretty sure I was sufficiently wooed ages ago,” Keith mumbles, but any embarrassment he feels quickly melts away at the sound of Lance’s laughter as he allows himself to be pulled along the rest of the dock. 

They quickly collect their things—Lance’s things really, including his jacket and a small drawstring bag, the contents of which Lance is very secretive about—and head out into the meadow. Keith’s entire body feels warm, chest buzzing with giddiness as they run through the grass, stumbling over their own feet and laughing into the quiet summer night. He can’t remember the last time he felt quite so light, so full of energy and childish excitement. Between constant training so they can defend themselves from monsters outside of camp and frequently watching their fellow demigods leave for dangerous quests, some of which never return, they don’t often get the chance to be like this. Like kids, like lovesick teenagers who have the entire future to look forward to and all the time in the world to figure out what to do with it.

Lance’s hand is warm and solid in Keith’s. Lance is always warm, Keith thinks, yet one more thing that points directly to his godly heritage. The list just keeps on growing, doesn’t it? Keith feels another familiar pang of embarrassment, but given the events of the past few days he’s used to it, and either way it’s easily drowned out by the fluttering of his heartbeat when Lance turns to smile at him.

“Think this is far enough?” 

Keith glances over his shoulder at the distant treeline, the surface of the lake shimmering in the moonlight before being swallowed by the meadow’s gentle slopes. “Fine by me.” 

“Good, because I have a surprise.” Keith mourns the loss of Lance’s hand in his, but Lance needs it to rummage through his drawstring bag, which he is currently doing. There’s a bit of crinkling, and then out of it he produces two plastic bags. In the dark, it takes Keith a moment to make out the labels on the packaging, but when he does he can’t help the surprised gasp that comes out of his mouth. 

“Oh my gods. Are those—” 

“Two unexpired packs of sour gummy worms?” Lance grins, waving the bags in the air. “Absolutely they are. Don’t ask me how I got them, I pulled a million strings and asked a million favors. Mostly from Allura, but she loves me, so it’s fine.” 

Keith gingerly accepts the bag he’s given, staring down at it in wonder. “This is… I can’t remember the last time I ate something that didn’t have any nutritional value.” 

Lance laughs loudly, the sound of it vibrating warmly in Keith’s chest. “Well, that changes tonight. I think we’ve more than earned it.” He flops onto the ground in a way that looks like it should hurt, pulling open his bag of gummy worms with a _pop._ Keith chuckles to himself as he follows suit, sitting across from Lance and examining his own bag for a moment before opening it as well. Lance drops a single gummy worm into his mouth and sighs happily. “I’ve missed sugar.” 

“Me too,” Keith agrees honestly, yanking off the head of a worm and chewing. “Shiro says I have a big sweet tooth.” 

“I know, he told me.” 

Keith stills and looks up at Lance, who is oblivious to Keith’s narrowed eyes because he’s busy dropping two more worms into his mouth. “What?” 

“What?” Lance echoes, but the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile gives him away. “We talk about you all the time.” 

“What,” Keith repeats. 

Lance wiggles his eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got _loads_ of dirt on you.” 

“Do not.” 

“Do too. How else would I know that your favorite pair of boxers are hippo-printed?”

He bursts into laughter as Keith flings several worms at him with a mortified squeak. “Shut up! Why would he tell you that! Oh my gods, the next time I see him I swear I’ll—” 

“What,” Lance interrupts, his giggles rendering him breathless. “Steal his car?” 

The look on Keith’s face could probably scare away an entire pack of hellhounds, something that Lance seems to find delightfully amusing. His shoulders shake with uncontained laughter as Keith scowls, reaching across the space between them and snatching Lance’s bag right out of his hands. “Now you owe me both bags for speaking about things I told Shiro to _never speak about.”_

“Oh, come on! I worked so hard for those, you’re really gonna punish me for Shiro having a big fat mouth?” 

“You say that like _you_ don’t have a big fat mouth.” 

“Rude!” 

Keith throws another worm at him. Amazingly, by a combination of sheer luck and chance, Lance catches it in his mouth. For a moment they stare at each other in disbelief, and then they both burst into laughter. This inevitably leads to a worm-catching contest, although it’s difficult to truly compete when both parties have to do their part for the worms to be caught. Keith pretends to be reluctant to return Lance’s bag, but he wasn’t going to keep it anyway. Fifteen minutes later Keith’s mouth and cheeks are sticky with sugar and he can’t stop laughing, especially when Lance decides to stick a gummy worm up each nostril.

“Don’t eat those,” Keith pleads. To his relief, Lance doesn’t eat them, but he does make a big show about decapitating them (can you really decapitate a gummy worm if you don’t know which side is its head?).

He doesn’t quite remember when or how they wound up the way that they are, sprawled on their backs in the grass with their legs kicked over their knees as they watch the stars. The sky is impossibly clear, not a cloud in sight, moonlight casting shifting shadows as the grass rustles in the breeze around them. Every once in a while one of them will kick at the other’s foot, and the other will kick back, and they’ll snicker and maybe throw a few more gummy worms before falling back into a comfortable silence. 

Keith has been stealing glances at Lance all night, but somehow he misses it when he shifts onto his side, head resting against his forearm. All he knows is that when he looks again he finds Lance already looking at him, a small, funny sort of smile on his face. 

“What?” he asks, a little too defensively. Maybe a little self-consciously, because he’s not sure what he’s done to get Lance’s attention like that.

Lance’s smile grows and he chuckles quietly, shaking his head. “Nothing, I’m just—thinking. Dangerous, I know,” he finishes before Keith can say it for him.

“About what?” Keith asks instead.

“I dunno.” Lance averts his gaze then, picking at a clump of grass and twisting one of the blades between his fingers, expression guarded. It makes Keith’s stomach twist anxiously, thoughts suddenly racing as he tries to think of what he’s done wrong. Because that’s what the look on Lance’s face means, doesn’t it? Somewhere in between all the shared smiles and laughter, he’s made a mistake, their night is ruined, he’ll never want to do anything like this with Keith ever again. 

Lance continues before he can panic too much though, bringing Keith’s whirling thoughts to a standstill. “Did you know?” Without context it seems like a vague and unusual question, yet Keith instantly understands. “Before you thought I could charmspeak, I mean. Like, did you…” Lance trails off as if he can’t seem to find the right words, but Keith hears the unspoken question he’s trying to ask. 

_Did you know already how you felt about me? Before all this? Before charmspeak was involved, real or not?_

_Were you really that upset that it was me?_

Guilt crashes over Keith like a tidal wave, unforgiving and relentless. All that time he thought Lance was hurting him, when really, Keith was the one hurting Lance. Shiro always says that ‘communication is key’ in any relationship, platonic or romantic or otherwise, and Keith used to roll his eyes at him but clearly he’s right. Keith’s inability to communicate rather than jump to baseless conclusions is exactly what got them into such a mess in the first place. He never meant to make Lance feel like he was doing something wrong (or maybe, he did, but that was assuming that his baseless conclusions were indeed true, which they were not, and in hindsight make Keith feel ashamed for even entertaining them). 

Really, Keith got lucky. He came out on the other side of this with a substantial amount of embarrassment, but also a date and maybe-possibly-hopefully future boyfriend. Meanwhile, Lance was left wondering if he was even someone worth loving at all.

“Of course I did,” Keith admits quietly, cheeks warming, but he pushes through it. “I’ve known for ages.” 

“Then why… I mean, I know why you thought I was an Aphrodite kid, but—” Lance hesitates, blowing out a breath before glancing at Keith. “Why the charmspeak?” 

Keith bites his lip, slowly dragging his hand through the grass and pulling back just before his fingers brush Lance’s. “I don’t know. I guess—part of me didn’t believe I could ever feel this way about anyone, or something. Like, at some point my feelings started to seem so excessive that when I heard about charmspeak for the first time, I was convinced that’s what was making them seem so extreme.” 

“Extreme?”

“You know what I mean. I told you I’ve never done this before.” Keith swallows, purposely keeping his gaze lowered. “I’ve never really liked anyone.” 

“Shocker.” 

Keith kicks at Lance’s foot and Lance laughs softly as he kicks back. He looks dangerously pleased at the idea of Keith being so deeply infatuated with him, but there’s still an uncertain tilt to his mouth, the smallest crease in his brow like his question hasn’t quite been answered. Luckily Keith knows exactly what he’s looking for, and he makes sure that Lance is looking at him before he says: 

“I’m glad it’s you.” 

He means it. And from the way that the tightness in Lance’s smile melts away, he knows it’s what Lance needed to hear. Lance rests his cheek on the top of one hand, sliding the other through the grass like Keith had done before, only he doesn’t stop before his fingers brush Keith’s. “Me too.” 

Keith bites his lip, trying not to think too much about the blush spreading across his cheeks as Lance hooks their pinkies, unhooks them, presses their fingertips together. He clears his throat, working himself up to ask his next question before he loses the courage. “When did you know?” 

“Hm? Oh.” Lance’s hand stills, his palm warm where it rests on Keith’s. He chuckles a little as he pulls away to run his fingers through his hair, and the combined gesture is so unfamiliar that it takes a moment for Keith to realize that he’s embarrassed. “Right around the time that I stopped acting like a complete jerk to you, probably.” 

“You weren’t _that_ bad,” Keith tries. 

“Yeah, I was,” Lance sighs, and Keith snorts. “Though to be fair, you were a jerk back sometimes and that made me feel a little better about it.” 

Keith rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but he can’t really deny it. “I made it too easy for you to rile me up. I always liked you though, I just didn’t know what I did to make you _not_ like me. Either way I was surprised you wanted anything to do with me at all.” 

Lance’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?” 

“Because—” Keith falters, suddenly self-conscious. He averts his gaze and hunches in on himself, struggling to find the words to explain himself. “I mean, just… you’re—you. You’re popular, you’re good at everything, everyone likes you and you have a godly parent that cares at least enough about you to claim you. And I’m just. Me.” 

“Just you?” Lance repeats incredulously, propping himself up on an elbow. “Dude, I was like, majorly jealous of you.” 

Keith blinks at him, bewildered. “You were—of _what?”_

“I don’t know! Everything? Like—” Lance waves a hand in the air, stumbling over his words like he doesn’t know where to start. “You showed up to camp with Shiro and already had a place the second you got here, you know? He was my hero, I could hardly talk to him without forgetting what words were and then he found you and—I mean, you were automatically his favorite! You guys would joke around with each other like it was nothing and he would talk to you and train with you and you were _good,_ powers or not. It all seemed so natural for you, meanwhile I’d already been here for six months working my butt off to be even half as good as you.” 

Keith can hardly believe what he’s hearing. The idea of Lance, of all people, being jealous of _him,_ of all people? It seems ludicrous. “At what? Swordfighting? Pick anything else and you would beat me just as often as I’d beat you. Pick archery and you’d destroy me, I can hardly even hold a bow properly. If anything, I was the one jealous of _you.”_

Lance clicks his tongue disbelievingly. “Well, now you’re just being ridiculous.” 

“I’m serious! You fit in everywhere because people like _you,_ not—not some fake, idealistic version of you. I had zero social skills but everyone pretended to like me anyway because I was associated with Shiro. Meanwhile you’re like, really genuine, and nice to everyone because that’s just how you are, and—stop looking at me like that.” 

Lance laughs, lifting a hand in surrender. “I’m sorry, it’s just—you really do like me, huh?” 

Keith drops his head back against the ground, bangs flopping out of his face. “I thought I’d made that perfectly clear,” he grumbles, then frowns when Lance makes a soft sort of noise in the back of his throat. “What?” 

“Where’d you get this?” 

“Huh? Where’d I get wh—” The rest of Keith’s words die in his throat when he looks over to find Lance much closer in proximity than before, reaching out to brush a few stray pieces of hair away from Keith’s forehead. He gently presses his fingers to the skin just above his eyebrow, and Keith is so focused on admiring the freckles spattered across his face and the bright color of his eyes even in just the moonlight that it takes a moment for him to realize what Lance is referring to. “Oh, yeah. It’s just a scratch, I’m sure I got it sometime during training.” 

“Oh, because you’re _so_ careful.” 

“I always am.” 

Lance sighs as he presses his palm flat against Keith’s forehead, exasperated but twice as fond. “I thought I told you to take it easy.” 

Keith purses his lips. “I don’t remember you saying that specifically.” 

“It was implied. Anyway, I can fix it if you want me to.” 

Keith stills then, gaze flicking up to Lance. “Wait, you mean—are you sure? I thought… doesn’t it drain you? I don’t want to make you tired.” 

“I don’t mind,” Lance insists, although he sounds hesitant about it, like he’s worried he’s crossing some sort of line. “It’s pretty small, I can handle it.” 

He tentatively presses his thumb over the cut, eyes searching Keith’s face as if gauging his reaction. Keith only blinks, slowly, hoping that for once his expression is open and easy to read. He trusts Lance. “I don’t mind either,” he says honestly, resting a hand over Lance’s forearm and intentionally meeting his gaze. “As long as you’re sure.” 

It must’ve been the reassurance Lance was looking for, because he smiles again and Keith can practically feel the way his entire body relaxes. He takes a deep breath, putting a small amount of pressure over the cut with his thumb. “Okay. Let me concentrate.” Keith nods minutely, but he doesn’t move his hand where it still rests on Lance’s arm, and Lance doesn’t make him. He closes his eyes and lets out the breath he’s been holding, tickling Keith’s cheek.

Keith has only seen Lance do this once before, after Allura got a nasty cut on her arm during a game of Capture the Flag. (Ares kids tend to go a little too over the top, and while normally Allura is virtually untouchable, she was taking on nearly a dozen of them by herself, and the fact that she only got hit once was more impressive than anything.) Lance wasn’t able to heal it completely; it takes a lot of effort and energy, and this power was relatively new to him, but he healed it enough that it didn’t scar like it should have. After that incident, he slept for a full twenty-four hours and then some. Ever since then he’s been much more conservative with the use of his power.

Even Lance doesn’t know exactly how his power works or why he has it. No child of Apollo has had true, genuine healing abilities for decades, maybe even centuries. He’s always described it to Keith like dreaming while awake—clearing his thoughts to rid his mind of any distraction that could hinder the process, visualizing the person or injury with as much detail as possible, summoning his own energy and imagining it flowing into them like a river from its source.

Like now, as warmth flows into and blooms throughout Keith’s entire body, quickly but comfortably in a way that forces Keith’s eyes to flutter closed. He can’t help the audible sigh that slips out of his mouth. It feels like drinking sunlight, like holding the sun in his palms, things that shouldn’t be possible but feel so inexplicably real that Keith is surprised he doesn’t burst into flames. 

He opens his eyes and Lance is gazing down at him with an expression that makes the rhythm of Keith’s heart stutter, because it’s one he recognizes from all the time he’s known Shiro and Adam, from all the teasing he’s endured when they’ve caught him looking at Lance. It’s very familiar to him, but the difference is, it’s never been directed _at_ him. He doesn’t move, too afraid of breaking the mutual trance that seems to have fallen between them. Even breathing seems like too much for such a delicate moment, but he’s already holding his breath without really meaning to. 

When Lance speaks, there’s something about his voice that’s strained, as if Keith stole all the breath from his lungs. “I’m gonna do something.” 

Keith swallows, because he has an idea of what might be coming next and he’s never hoped so strongly that he’s right. “Okay.” 

Lance’s hand has drifted from Keith’s temple down to his cheek, fingers threading through his hair so naturally that Keith thinks Lance must be doing it unconsciously. He’s only half-aware of his own hand sliding up Lance’s arm to grip at his sleeve, desperate for something to steady himself as Lance murmurs: “And I’m doing it because I want to.”

“Okay,” Keith says again, voice hardly a whisper. 

And that’s all the confirmation Lance needs to lean down and kiss him. 

Keith has never kissed anyone before, and he’s not sure he ever could have prepared himself for what it would feel like. The way that Lance kisses him, Keith has a hard time believing that he’s never done this before either, but he has a feeling that has to do with the fact that he doesn’t know how it’s supposed to feel. Regardless, nothing about it certainly feels _wrong,_ not when Lance is being so undeniably gentle that Keith finds himself clutching at his shirt in an effort to stay grounded. He’s so lightheaded he’s scared he might float away, his breathing ragged and uneven every time they come apart for air. 

The tip of Lance’s nose brushes against Keith’s cheek with every tilt of his jaw, sending the army of butterflies in Keith’s stomach into a frenzy. The ghost of his touch lingers underneath the hem of Keith’s shirt, warm fingers pressing against the cool skin of his stomach, and Keith wraps an arm around the back of Lance’s neck to keep him there. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and he never wants it to end.

As desperate as Keith feels, the kiss is anything but. It’s slow but not hesitant, deliberate but nothing short of sweet, tentative but still intentional. Lance’s fingers are still buried in Keith’s hair, thumb gliding over his cheek. Keith doesn’t know what else to do other than cling to him. A sudden flare of courage surges through his chest and he dares to bite gently at Lance’s lower lip, causing him to break away with a gasp. At first Keith is horrified he’s done something wrong, but from the starstruck look on his face and the deep flush of his cheeks, it’s clear that’s not the case.

Lance never once looks away, and Keith feels like he’s going to fall apart under his gaze. “Gods, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

The only reason Keith’s face doesn’t flush is because it’s already as flushed as it can get. He slowly disentangles his arms from around Lance and rests his hands against Lance’s chest, struggling to catch his breath. From the uneven, rapid beat of Lance’s heart against Keith’s fingertips, Lance must be having the same problem. Even so, Lance tugs at a strand of Keith’s hair as a mischievous smile spreads across his face. “You sure _you’re_ not the Aphrodite kid?”

Keith involuntary stiffens at the same time that Lance does, having clearly realized the implications of what he’s just said a second too late. “I-I don’t know why I said that,” he stammers, eyes wide. “Keith, I’m sorry, I—” 

“No,” Keith blurts, curling his fingers into the fabric of Lance’s shirt when he tries to pull away. “Sorry. Just—it’s fine, you didn’t say anything wrong.” 

Lance relaxes, but only slightly, mouth still pulled down into an apologetic frown. Keith wishes he could just pull him back down and kiss it away, but he knows Lance won’t stop beating himself up over this that easily. “I know that’s a touchy subject for you,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“It’s fine,” Keith mumbles again, glancing off to the side. “It’s not your fault.”

Lance shifts again and this time Keith releases the hold on his shirt, watching as he sits back on his feet and rubs the back of his neck. “Still did a pretty good job of ruining the mood, though.” 

“No, you didn’t— _ugh.”_ Keith presses his palms against his eyes, struggling to swallow down his frustration. “This is why I don’t like talking about it.” 

He rubs his eyes and drops his hands back into the grass with a sigh, but he can’t quite bring himself to look at Lance. The stars continue to wink in and out from the darkness overhead, unconcerned with everything that’s taking place below them. It must be nice, Keith thinks, to simply exist and not have to bother with things like gods, and feelings, and belonging. Lance is quiet for a moment, but before Keith can start worrying about having upset him, he lays down beside Keith and turns onto his side, head propped in his hand. 

“Your value isn’t determined by your godly parentage, you know,” he murmurs. 

Keith takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, eyes fluttering. “Sure feels like it sometimes,” he answers quietly.

“I know. People like to pretend it’s a big deal to be claimed by a god, but I think that has more to do with the fact that most of us have daddy issues so it makes us feel better about ourselves.” He grins at the sound of Keith’s startled laughter, moving to lean back on his hands. “You know I’m right. Like, I thought we all agreed that the gods suck, anyway.” 

“Don’t say it so _loud,”_ Keith snorts, smacking at Lance’s arm. “They’ll hear you.” 

“Good,” Lance shrugs, and Keith rolls his eyes, still smiling. “I’m serious! Whether or not the gods claim you says _nothing_ about your worth. I mean, look at Shiro! Dude’s the most powerful demigod alive and was claimed by Zeus the second he stepped foot in camp, but you of all people know how much he hates him. Zeus only claimed Shiro because of his power, not because he actually cares.”

Keith’s smile fades slightly, and he messes with the hem of his shirt before looking up at Lance and then away. “I guess, but… I’m the _only_ unclaimed demigod here. It’s been months, everyone else is always claimed within a week. I just—” He chews on the inside of his cheek, searching for the right words. No matter how hard he tries, he can never seem to find them. “I know I shouldn’t care,” he continues slowly. “But it’s hard not to wonder what’s so wrong with me that they refuse to claim me, and _only_ me, even while they continue to claim everyone else.” 

He hesitantly looks up when he feels Lance rest a gentle hand on his arm. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says firmly. “I can’t tell you why they won’t claim you, but I can tell you that whatever it is, it’s not your fault. This is entirely their decision, not yours. Whoever your godly parent is, they don’t deserve you.” 

Keith searches Lance’s gaze for a moment as if he still expects there to be some sort of catch, but he knows he won’t find one. Everything about Lance is as genuine as ever, steady and honest and everything that Keith has always wished he could be for himself. Although, he supposes he doesn’t have to be any of those things, not when Lance is right here in front of him. Maybe Shiro was onto something when he kept telling Keith he didn’t have to do everything alone.

He finally shifts over onto his side to mirror Lance, glancing down toward the space in between them. “You’re right,” he says softly. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about this, so… thanks.” 

Lance smiles, playfully poking at Keith’s cheek. “Anytime. I just wish there was more I could do.”

“I think you’ve done plenty for me tonight,” Keith answers with a chuckle, then pauses. Lance raises an eyebrow as he hums. “Actually… there is _one_ more thing you could do.” 

It takes a moment, but Lance makes the connection and subsequently gasps. “Keith! Are you flirting with me?”

“Should I not be?” 

Lance clicks his tongue, grinning. “Well, I didn’t say _that.”_

Keith laughs as Lance wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer, hands warm and solid against his back. He bites his lip to hold back a smile, lightly settling his fingers on Lance’s cheek and taking the chance to shamelessly study his freckles. Lance’s smile is as big and as bright as the sun, and just as warm when Keith tilts forward to kiss it. 

It’s somehow even gentler than the first, slow and delicate and sickeningly sweet. The two of them can’t seem to stop smiling through each kiss, all the previous nerves and uncertainty from the beginning of the night long since forgotten. Keith can’t help but giggle when Lance pulls away only to continue pressing kisses to every part of his face he can reach, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. 

“So,” Lance starts, pecking the corner of Keith’s mouth one more time. “Thoughts on our first date?” 

“Hmmm.” Keith scrunches his nose, pretending to mull it over. “I don’t know, I think I’m still getting a feel for the whole dating thing. We should do this again, preferably sometime really soon.” 

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” 

“Maybe. Will there be more gummy worms?” 

Lance grins, eyes glittering with mirth. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Then it’s a yes from me,” Keith murmurs, and tilts forward to meet Lance in the middle with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! as promised, i'm going to give a quick explanation of my headcanon for keith's godly parent. this fic was loosely based on an au that my friend anna and i came up with! long story short, keith is the son of typhon, who is both a god and a monster. he's the father of most famous mythological monsters like cerberus, the chimera, the sphinx, etc. krolia is keith's birth mother, but after realizing who typhon really was she essentially ran off with keith and later met texas (as in like. keith's dad sdfjkdsk), who she ended up raising keith with. there's much more to the au, but it's not relevant to THIS fic specifically so for the sake of keeping the notes short i'll stop here :) thanks for reading!
> 
> (ALSO, lance finds the drawing keith made for him in his pocket later that night before he goes to bed <3)
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
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> 

**Author's Note:**

> just in case anyone is confused:  
> lance - son of apollo  
> shiro - son of zeus  
> adam - son of athena  
> allura - daughter of hecate  
> matt - son of hermes  
> keith - unclaimed......
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
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> 


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